Honest Touches
by RevlerRose
Summary: Frank Castle/Karen Page fic in 4 parts. It contains spoilers from Season 2 of TV's Daredevil. It will contain EXPLICIT sexual content, angst, hurt/comfort, and flashes of PTSD triggers from Frank's side. Some reworking of the timelines from the Daredevil TV show. This isn't a pretty story but, my aim is to make it honest; like Frank Castle. "Touch has a memory" - John Keats
1. The Hospital

**I, of course, do not own any part of the Marvel Universe. If I did I wouldn't be refinancing my mortgage. Explicit Warning: This is a Frank Castle/ Karen Page pairing fic that contains explicit sexual content. If this isn't your thing; turn back now. You have been warned.**

Frank Castle had been too tired to take his wife to bed when he came home from The Shit.

He regretted that now.

Well, maybe not now, as he was strapped to the sterile white hospital bed with soft nylon - cotton blend restraints, but, in general it would become one of his life's regrets.

That night he went home with his family and forewent eating dinner to curl up in his King sized bed. He told his Maria that he would be better tomorrow; 'jetlag' he'd said.

He'd laid there, heavy and cold, sweating slightly as he listened to the sounds of dinner, then the TV, then Lisa begging to have him read to her.

The features on Maria's face had bunched up in concern when she'd come to their room and found him with her pillow pulled to his face, his eyes open, staring at the wall.

"Babe," he'd refocused on her features and gave her his best smile, "I'm fine, just, tired." He'd reached up then and gently pulled her down into bed with him. Replacing her pillow with the source of the smell he loved. He'd bowed around her body and banded his arms across her midsection and he'd held her like that until she'd released that tell tail sigh of relaxation and he'd felt her muscles uncoil and sag back into his. He'd slept then; waking when he felt her leave his side and, then, falling back into oblivion when she'd returned; hair wet and smelling faintly of mint.

His last thoughts before falling asleep, with his hand softly cupping her right breast, were of desire. He wanted to pull her close to him. He wanted to rake up her nightgown and play her sex like a long ago mastered instrument. He'd wanted to be with her, inside her, until her frantic whispers turned into lip biting in an attempt not to wake their babies. He'd wanted to know if it was still the same; if he could still make her shatter underneath him. But, he was too tired. Too bone deadening, lead muscle, mother-fucking tired and, as the blackness overtook him, his last consoling thought was; 'I'll have her tomorrow.'

Frank Castle never got another night.

He'd awoken late that next morning, after nine on a Saturday, and found, to his dismay, that he was still tired. Pulling himself from bed he'd showered and briefly thought about shaving before deciding that it was better left for some other time when his arms didn't feel like lead. In the kitchen he'd found Maria and the kids with the Bulletin open on the table to an article about the historical restoration of the carousel at Central Park. Frank Jr. had declared that red horses were his favorite and Lisa admonished him for a choice so ordinary while declaring, in sharp contrast, that lions were her choice for conveyance and, by default, the best option. He'd smiled then; a real honest to God smile, as he took his seat at the head of table and tucked into a plate of eggs, bacon, and wheat toast. A sudden jolt of energy ran through his nervous system as he watched Maria do dishes as his babies argued and, just for a moment, he thought that this would be the way he got to be better, less tired, be himself again. He would stay as close to this as he could for as long as he could.

"What do you youngins' say we go?" He'd asked. Their faces had lit up. "We'll do a test run on all the animals; ride them as many times as you like."

And the rest;

The door to his private hospital room banged and Frank's eyes snapped open; harshly jerking him back to reality.

There was a blind man there, a man with shoulder length blondish hair and rounded features, and woman with skin the color of sweet cream. The blind man said his name and the other one with the hair mumbled something about tape. 'Of Course,' Frank thought, 'the tape on the floor. I'm dangerous now.' He'd forgotten for a moment, just a moment, while he lived in the past at his kitchen table. But, that was ridiculous. He'd always been dangerous. It just wasn't hidden anymore.

The blind man spoke about their firm. Nelson and Murdock defenders of the city's trash. Frank felt bile rise in the back of his throat and, just as he was starting to tell them off, telling them not to bother with him, she rushed forward with a picture of his family.

It was from a happier time. Before his last deployment he'd taken the kid's and Maria to Central Park; to say goodbye. They'd asked a Japanese tourist to take their picture. They'd laughed. They'd ridden the carousel until Frank Jr. got sick. He'd hadn't been so Goddamned tired then. He'd let Maria drive him home so Lisa could sleep in his lap and that night he'd made slow love to his wife like he'd had all the time in the world. The picture the sweet cream woman held to his face had only two copies. One had been in Maria's purse and sustained a bullet hole clean through it the day she died and then other had been in his house.

"Where'd you get that?" Frank grunted.

The sweet cream woman, 'Karen' the blind man had called her, looked a bit ashamed suddenly but, she didn't lie. "Your home."

The blind man, Murdock, was pulling her away now and there was yelling in the hall. Frank reached forward, as best he could in the restraints, and he felt his fingertips brush hers, Karen's, and then glide along the slick sheen of the photograph as Murdock pulled her back. Frank started to speak but, the yelling increased and the door banged open for a second time as the Lady DA filled up his room with anger and venom ordering Nelson and Murdock into the hall. Frank looked on with mild panic as Karen was pulled along with them like a tide headed out to sea taking his precious photograph with her.

Frank was left alone with the Detective now who simply crossed his arms and made a non-descript poker face that landed somewhere between disgust and exhaustion. "I want them," Frank said after a time. The Detective blinked but, didn't respond. "I want them to be my lawyers," Frank repeated; raising his voice just a notch and coughing as the gravel from his bruised larynx caught in his throat.

The Detective leaned forward and rubbed the bridge of his nose, remained silent, and left the room.

She came back, Karen, with the lawyer who had the hair, Nelson. Nelson said some things about his case. Frank wished he could pay more attention but, his sniper senses were focused on Karen. The shame was still evident on her face. The fact that she'd been his house. Violated his privacy. Violated the last place that was him; or used to be him. Frank doesn't really think before he speaks but, he knows that he has to get her alone and so he says what he has to get rid of Nelson. He knows, deep down, Nelson will have to be gone before Karen will admit going through his things. He doesn't know for sure yet but, he can tell she's the kind of woman who would have gone through every room, flipped pages in Maria's photo albums, touched his children's toys, and noted every stray jacket or children's sock forgotten on the floor and, the honest truth, is he can't remember anymore. It's killing him. Frank Castle is bruised and beaten with broken ribs and large bore hole through his left foot; he's killed and killed and killed and the monster inside him still will not remain quiet. Yet, the thing that's killing him is not knowing if those breakfast dishes made it back in the sink that morning. She was washing dishes but, did Maria clear his plate? Did she take the children's juice glasses off the table?

Nelson leaves and Karen nervously picks up and replaces a legal pad several times. Frank can tell she's not scared of him. It's something else; shame. She reads to him and he lets her know the DA's police report is utter horseshit. He may not remember everything but, the sickening, off-kilter tempo, of the Carousel music while he held the meat that used to be his little girl is something he'll never forget.

Karen thought as much, that the report was fake. He doesn't tell her about his faceless baby girl. That would be too much.

Frank asks her questions and somehow Karen knows the answers. She knows about the jeep he bought Frank Jr. She knows about the plastic dinosaurs. She even knows about the damn dishes. The monster inside seems to be momentarily sated at this news. He's grateful for the respite; even if it is short lived.

Frank answers Karen's questions then; legal this and that. He watches the way she darts her tongue across her lower lip during the natural break between questions. She crosses and uncrosses her legs and pulls at her skirt. When he's answered all she's asked she gives him a sincere, yet tight-lipped, smile. "I think I have all I need," She states matter of factly as she stands. "I'll go talk to Foggy, er, Mr. Nelson, and see what he wants to do next." She turns then, away from him, and Frank would have to be dead to not take notice of her perfect heart shaped ass. He feels guilty, instantly.

"Thank you Ma'am," Frank says.

It startles her, as Karen didn't see that one coming, and the honesty of the statement paints an icy pain somewhere in the vicinity of her soul. "For what," she asks.

"Helping me remember," he says.

The icy feeling in her soul grows somehow sharper and she's at a loss for what to say but, Karen finds herself nodding and the words "You're welcome," come clumsily tumbling from her lips. As if she's trying to make up for her cumbersome inept words she moves forward with the photo of his family. She puts it between his upturned fingers and lets her palm rest on the pulsepoint of his prone wrist.

They stay like that for what seems like an eternity. Frank slows his heart rate savoring the touch; not in a sexual way but, in the basic way a human craves touch. To remind them of their own humanity.

Karen pulls her hand away slowly. She isn't ashamed she touched him; Frank can tell. "I'll go over these notes with Mr. Nelson now," she says as she gathers her files.

Frank nods in response as he fingers the photograph in his hand. He looks up when he hears the door open and they lock eyes momentarily as she's walking out the door. He tries to memorize her then. The soft cream of her skin, the flaxen sheen of her hair, and the way her lips pucker as her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip again.

She'll look different later. After she sees him explode at the venomous bitch of a DA. She'll look scared then. But, even as he vents his intent to watch the DA burn along with him he tries to remember her from before. She had kindness in her eyes, understanding, and recognition that there was still some spark of humanity in him; even if he didn't see it himself.

After they leave the night nurses come. They check his vitals under the watchful eye of the posted police guard and push more pillows under his bandaged foot under the sheet. The nurse mentions something about a scheduled bath and the guard asks flatly if that's medically necessary. The nurse shrugs and says she'll run it by the doctor. When they leave the nurse asks if he'd like the light off. He gives her an almost imperceptible nod and she flips the switch. The police uniform gives Frank a look and says 'be good," like it would make a difference, before he, too, leaves Frank to the beeping monitors and the relative darkness.

Frank is grateful for the darkness; the relative silence. He closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and his pulse. Taking accounting of his body one muscle group at a time he forces his limbs to relax and grow heavy concentrating only on allowing the pain to flow freely and let him know what was in order and what was not.

Eventually the pain ebbs, like it always does, and his heart reaches an impressively slow pace. Frank allows himself sleep then, setting his internal clock for only a few hours. He knows he'll wake when those hours are up to retake his internal assessment.

This is not the first time he's completed this routine.

 _This is wrong._

Maria is above him.

He's dreaming; he has to be.

But;

He can feel her. Goddamnit; she is tight and slick around him and he would swear he can smell her.

He can't move and he flails his head from side to side only to find his wrists bound.

This is wrong.

This was never their kink. He loved to touch his woman with fingers and tongue and teeth. It was wrong for him to be tied in his dream.

Frank tries desperately to lurch forward and take one of her pert upturned nipples in his teeth. He wants it so bad he can already taste her skin but, he can't get to her. Something is holding him in place.

Something turns in Frank's stomach and he realizes that this isn't just some dream. Maria's wearing blue silk around her waist. It's his favorite nighty on her. The one with the strap he ripped when he pulled it off her shoulders the last night he made love to her before he left for The Shit. This is _the dream._ The one he had in the coma. The one that ends with the mawing hole in her chest, blood on her lips, and lifeless eyes when she collapses against him.

Frank closes his eyes, within his own dream, only to hear his dreaming self chanting in rhythm to her canting hips. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up," he orders his mind. This isn't real. "Wake up, Godddamnit."

"Frank," he hears Maria's voice whisper in his dream. "Frank, look at me."

Frank bangs his head against the pillow in his dream; eyes scrunched tightly shut. She feels so Goddamn good; so wet, 'only wet for you,' she used to tell him. He can _feel_ her hands splayed on his chest; nails slightly raking his nipples.

"Frank," He hears her voice again, "Baby look at me."

He doesn't want to but, his body won't let him wake. He has to finish the dream. Fighting his own will Frank opens his eyes in his dream and gasps despite himself.

It's Karen.

"Look at me," she says.

And, he does, God help him, he does.

Frank Castle knows he's dreaming and, just for a second, he hopes he's thrown an embolism and this is his life now. To be stuck in this moment with her. Forever.

She cants her hips to the left a little and lifts off him just enough that she can get to her clit. He watches with greedy fascination as she rubs it and lets out a breathy moan. Frank pulls forward to get to her and finds that he can, now, move his hands. He grabs her hips and forcefully rights her back on his cock; pushing up into her at the same time. Her eyes squeeze tightly and her brow furrows as he feels her walls begin to flutter around him.

He slaps her hand away and forces his blunt fingers between them plucking at her clit until she comes, screaming, apart around him. Her body slumps forward against his chest and Frank grins; proud of himself. He's still hard and inside her; ready for round two. He laughs lightly as her rubs her back. "Don't pass out on me now doll. I'm far from done with you," he hears his voice say but, even as the words escape, he knows its wrong.

This is wrong.

When he lifts his hand from her back it's wet and sticky. The red is redder than it should be. Blood isn't really that color. He knows that but, it doesn't make it any less red in his dream. Frank's breath catches. "Karen," he whispers, not willing yet to believe this is where it will culminate. He shifts and her head lolls to the side; dark hair framing Maria's lifeless face.

The cold weight of her body is somehow suffocating and Frank wakes with a start.

Beeping machines and ambient light.

The room is cool. The temperature is made uncomfortable by the thin layer of sweat that lays beneath his hospital gown.

There is a sob in the room, a disembodied racking gasp, and Frank realizes, with a start, that it's him. He allows himself one more before he shuts it down, closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and his pulse.

Slowly, methodically he takes a secondary accounting of his body one muscle group at a time. He forces his limbs to relax and grow heavy concentrating only on allowing the pain to flow freely and let him know what was in order and what was not.

Eventually the pain ebbs, like it always does, and his heart reaches an impressively slow pace but, he knows there will be no more sleep tonight.

This is not the first time he's completed this routine.

 **Hope you have enjoyed.**

 **More to come.**

 **Cheers and Happy Writing,**

 **Rev**


	2. The Suit

**As always: I do not own Marvel, Daredevil, The Punisher, or sweet Karen Page. If I did I would be vacationing in The Maldives instead of writing fan fiction over my lunch break! This is a long one but, I had fun writing it so I hope you enjoy reading it. ;)**

 **ALSO - FYI I've only had one run through at editing this and I wanted to get it up so; sorry if I missed anything big! I promise I'll edit and update as I get time so hopefully they're not so bad as they distract from the dialogue.**

She'd come to visit him twice, so far, in prison.

Karen laid the suit bag on the conveyor belt along with her messenger bag stuffed with files. She'd left her purse at home and elected to tuck her wallet in the messenger bag instead. One less thing to carry.

"Ma'am," Karen looked up at the uniformed guard behind the belt scanner. "You've got to take the shoebox out of the suit bag; it's regulation."

"Of course," Karen replied as she dug into the bag; removing the loafers.

The first time Karen had visited Frank inside it had been, strained. He'd still called her 'Ma'am' then, instead of Karen, but, she'd tried to take it for what it was; an ingrained sign of respect.

She'd stayed at the other side of the room, initially, but, she couldn't tell herself why, exactly, now. He'd asked her for information but, she'd stood her ground and gotten her information first; the name of a Colonel, a character witness.

'Ray Schoonover,' Frank had mumbled; half to himself and half to her. She'd misspelled his name horribly and spent thirty minutes on hold with VA trying to get it straightened out later.

To her dismay he'd shot down PTSD. With just a lick of surliness in his voice he'd called it 'an insult' to the others who were really going through that. It had frustrated her. Why couldn't he see that the trauma didn't have to come from halfway around the world? Didn't he realize the trauma he'd endured was just as valid; a wash of familiar blood in his own backyard.

After she'd gotten the name of that Colonel Karen had sat. She was comfortable with him in a way that took most people years to be comfortable with others. She'd seen through the cracks in his veneer of monstrous-ness down to the man he was underneath the first time she'd met him.

She'd seen it in the way he fingered the slick semi-gloss family photo at the hospital. She'd seen it in the way he'd dismissed the moving pieces of his family's murder investigations saying he'd 'done it all before,' and the almost imperceptible ghost of a smile that twitched the corners of his mouth when she'd answered 'you haven't done it with me.' She'd heard it in the heartbreaking way he'd asked 'are you sure' when she'd asserted that he wasn't the 'monster people believe you to be.'

"This way," the uniformed officer said as he motioned through the metal detector. Karen stepped forward and onto the slightly squishy pad with two outlined shoe prints to indicate where she should place her feet. There was a whirring and then a tick as the light on the detector switched from red to green. "Come through," the uniform said.

It was on her second visit to the prison she'd convinced him to testify on his own behalf. She'd poured her heart into that tirade as he seemed so resolved then; so ready to accept his fate. And then, somewhere between slamming her hands on the table for the third time and bowing her head in frustration, she'd crossed the acceptable line between her side of the table and his. There had been a sharp tap on the glass in the door and Karen had turned, in her chair, to see a uniformed officer loudly proclaim, through the privacy glass, 'keep six inches apart. No touching.' Karen recalled how her breath stopped in her chest, caught on some imperceptible rasp in her lungs, when she felt the outline of Frank Castle's fingertips lurch forward and touch the side of her hand that was still on the table. There was no way the guard could have seen it. Her hand had been behind her back, between them both, planted firmly on the table to stabilize her when she turned in her chair. When she'd started to turn back around she'd felt Frank's touch slip away and, by the time she'd been looking forward again, his hand had been gone. The shadow of the pressure had lingered so lightly she hadn't been sure if she'd imagined it or not.

She had felt shaky then; her breath coming back in a little gasp. She'd looked up and met his soft brown eyes.

"I'll do it," he'd said simply. No more argument; just acquiescence, payment for his stolen touch.

She wasn't shaky because she was afraid of him. She hadn't been afraid of him then and she wasn't afraid of him now.

"Arms up," the uniform who had ushered her through the metal detector said brusquely. Karen complied and, as she let her mind wander, the uniform commenced to wand her body with practiced and efficient movements; scanning her for any minute evidence of metal hiding on her person that the larger detector might have missed.

Frank had startled her a couple of times; when she'd run with Grotto through a hailstorm of buckshot, when he'd yelled at the DA but, somehow she'd known he wouldn't hurt her. Not her. It would have been against 'his code.' It was a code he told her about in the hospital room but, it was also a code she'd pieced together long before; from crime scene photos and police reports. She couldn't decide now if she was being rational or idiotically trusting or if it really mattered which.

The battered and bloodied monster that shook Hell's Kitchen wasn't the real Frank Castle. The man she was trying to help, against impossible odds, was a Soldier, a Husband, and a Father. He was a man; who needed help remembering how to be a man. He needed help remembering the truth; finding the truth. And, Karen Page was honestly sure she could help him; without any more death. That was all the mattered.

Karen squared her shoulders as the female uniform approached her. The first time they'd done this routine it seemed so invasive, too personal, but, now, as the officers' latex clad hands traced the edges of her hair Karen reminded herself that it would be nothing compared to what Frank had been through. The officers' hands ventured downward, dragging lightly along her frame, pockets were turned inside out, cuffs turned up and then the hands went back up to her face. Karen opened her mouth automatically and grimaced at the taste of latex as slender fingers ran around the edges of her mouth between her teeth and cheek, then under her tongue. Karen gagged a little but, held in the telltale wretch in before it reached a vocal level. The officer stepped back and removed her gloves; "She's clean."

Karen took her messenger bag and the proffered suit bag from uniform behind the x-ray machine and gave her him her best professional smile. "I need to see my client now," she said in clipped, short, professional tones. Frank wasn't really her client, not really, not in the eyes of the law. But, Frank was her boss's client and saying 'I need to see my boss's client' didn't really have the same authoritative tone.

Foggy had always told her 'Fake it till you make it.'

"He's in holding," the older, male, uniform responded. "This way; I'll escort you."

Frank Castle itched; all over.

Above all other, inconveniences, that precipitated injuries this was by far his most frustrating.

These weren't the kind of itches you could scratch away; these were bone knitting, muscle mending itches down deep and Frank didn't dare dig his clipped nails down into his wounds. He needed his body to heal too badly to chance it; less it fail him at an unforeseen moment in the future. And, as Frank didn't intend on spending the rest of his life in a cell in Upstate New York, he needed his body to heal. Having it fail him was not an option he entertained.

But, the itch, the proverbial 'itch he couldn't scratch' set his nerves on edge. It was bad today; deep in his left foot, near his third metatarsal. In his solitude he sneered at the itch. Grimace set; he concentrated on ignoring it, getting past it, before Karen Page graced his cell with her presence.

That grimace on Frank's face was still there when Karen walked in 'solitary holding' with her escort.

Frank was getting used to having her around him. She didn't make his skin crawl like everyone else did after he'd woken up; after everything. It wasn't that he'd had to acclimate to her to make himself comfortable; it was that he'd had to acclimate to the fact that he was comfortable with her from the beginning. From the first time she'd been in his hospital room she'd brought with her the smells of sunshine and crisp wind and the more she was around the more he wished she could see him, just once, as the man he used to be. He looked down at his own body as she entered, observing her, tracking her from his periphery, but, taking in his orange jumpsuit, the shackles, and the bruised and split knuckles of his hands at the same time.

Frank knew he had nothing left to offer someone like her. This was his life now. Even if he lost the jumpsuit he'd still be The Punisher from here on out. That was a life sentence he couldn't escape.

Karen gasped a little, despite herself, when she walked in. Frank was standing and that was, within itself, unusual, but, not unexpected as he did have to change into the suit she'd brought him for court but, it wasn't his standing that made her gasp. It was some primal instinct in her recognizing the primal force in him that was just bigger than her; just more. Karen knew he'd still be a watercolor canvas of aqua and chartreuse and she had no reason to fear him but, in spite of all these facts, there was something about walking into a room with Frank Castle that made her lose her breath every time. It was like he'd already used up all the oxygen in the room and the rest of humanity was just left with what he allowed them.

"Ah," Karen started, breaking the silence and regaining her composure. She didn't really have anything with which to follow up that syllable, as it floundered between them, so she elected for a simple, "Yes," as she moved to a concrete wall bench and set her messenger and suit bag flat. Then, raising her gaze to meet his, she gave him her best smile.

Frank watched as Karen's mind worked out her next move. It was fucking cute the way her internal monologue played across her face punctuated by a series of 'Ah's' and 'Well's'. Frank shifted a little in place, "Ma'am."

"Frank," Karen said.

The way she said his name made his gut do a funny thing and Frank shifted his weight again.

Karen turned back to the guard. "So," she said brusquely, "How do we get this off?" Karen motioned in Frank's general direction as she spoke drawing attention to Frank's obvious inability to trade his jailhouse orange for the dark suit she'd brought while his hands and feet were shackled.

The guard gave a little head shake; "'We' don't get anything off Ma'am," he replied.

Karen's mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a fish out of water.

The guard scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail and tried his best not to make direct eye contact with Karen. "Prisoner dresses himself Ma'am," the guard continued. "You and I will make ourselves scarce into the hall and he'll stick his feet and hands through the shackle ports. When he's done; same routine in reverse. Waist chain stays on; no exceptions."

Karen felt her face flame as she snapped her mouth shut; thereby ending her impression of the catch of the day. The obvious, unspoken, implication of her prior statement being that she, somehow, believed that she would dress Frank. Karen's mind slipped into a flustered tailspin; it wasn't like that but, if she said anything like that now she'd come off like an embarrassed schoolgirl. It was somehow made worse by the fact that the uniform that had escorted her looked vaguely of her grandfather.

"Of course," Karen said. "Of course he can dress himself," Karen said, picking up her messenger bag and moving back toward the pocket door.

"Ma'am," it was Frank's voice this time.

Karen stopped short, still turned away from him; "Yes?"

"Thank you for the suit Ma'am."

Karen stayed turned away, not trusting that her color had returned to normal, and allowed herself the softest wisp of a secret smile. "Thank me when it fits," she said.

The process took time: Opening of the gate, closing of the gate, removal of cuffs, and, after that, the shackles. But, from the time his shackles were removed to the time he called for the guard to replace them couldn't have been more than four minutes. Frank wasn't the kind of man that languished, stealing extra minutes out of iron. He would have been practical about it.

Karen was having difficulty focusing as the guard called for opening of the gate again. If she was truthful about it she was having difficulty not thinking about Frank Castle in an entirely inappropriate way. The knowledge that he was one room over sliding on the suit pants she'd pressed over the boxers she'd picked out was making the initial fleeting of appreciation she'd had for his body, in the hospital room, harder and harder to ignore.

Her mind was wandering because of Matt; she reasoned. Last night, so late, finding a woman, no an exotic woman, in his bed had brought her emotions to a head. Jealous, she was jealous, and hurt; that was definitely up there too but, even then, her logical mind argued with her. Her relationship with Matt wasn't exclusive. They'd never 'defined it' because he didn't want to 'label things.' But, that wasn't all of it. If she was really honest with herself, if she was really listening to her body, she was fucking horny. She was stressed to the point of breaking and it had been over two years since she'd been with anybody and weeks before the Castle case started since she'd had a moment to herself. For herself.

Karen huffed out a little puff of air as she stood and tucked her hair behind her ears. Frank had called for the cuffs and now the gate was groaning open. Karen sucked in a breath when she saw the crisp outline of Frank Castle in his suit. 'You can thank me now,' she thought.

Karen's initial observation was that the suit, all things considered, wasn't a bad fit. For some reason Frank had left the shirt untucked and he was still wearing his prison issue jail shoes.

"Shit," Karen suddenly exclaimed.

Frank looked up; momentarily startled by her outburst.

"I left the shoes at the scanner," Karen turned and said to the uniform. "I completely forgot," She continued. "My hands were full and the other guard said I had to take them out of the suit bag because"

The uniform held up his hand; stopping Karen mid-sentence. "I'll get 'um," he drawled easily. Before he left the guard moved forward between Karen and Frank and cuffed Frank's shackle chain to an o-ring concreted in the floor. "Be right back son," the guard said pleasantly to Frank.

The guard left them then and Karen jumped a little when she heard the massive door slam shut and the aged locks slide into place.

"Why didn't you tuck in your shirt?" The question seemed ridiculous and Karen was ashamed she'd asked it almost as fast as the words came out. It was his shirt, after all; bunched up around the metal waist chain. It was pretty well concealed by the black suit jacket that draped past his waist and lid evenly on his narrow hips so, she supposed he could leave it untucked if he wanted. It just seemed so out of character for him, so un-military, so un-Frank.

"Why didn't you bring me a tie?" He grunted back as an answer.

"Choking and weapons hazard," Karen replied.

Frank gave a little expulsion of breath in disbelief as a smile quirked the right side of his mouth. "So you're sayin' I have to look like some Yuppie Millennial douchebag because someone sometime used a tie as a weapon?"

Karen shrugged and gave him half a smile.

Frank considered this for a moment; wetting his lips and chewing, lightly, on the bottom one. "Makes sense I guess." He finally conceded.

Karen felt like she should say something; to fill the empty space between them while the waited for his shoes. "Do you want to go over your testimony?" She asked as she moved to the concrete bench opening her messenger bag.

"My hands didn't fit," Frank replied.

Karen raised her eyebrows as she her hovering hands kneaded themselves, unconsciously, over her messenger bag. Realization dawned on her; "Didn't fit where? Are the pants too tight?"

Frank shifted uncomfortably and had a momentary flashback to a JC Penny when he was twelve years old. He was in the dressing room and his Mother was ask/yelling if the crotch of his pants were too tight.

Frank plucked at the waistband of the suit pants and Karen was able to see that, if anything, they hung loose and low of narrow hips. Frank then pulled out on the connecting iron waist chain of his cuffs and Karen watched as he showed her his inability the stick more than a solitary thick finger between the chain and his body.

"Oh," Karen said brightly. "Well, I can fix that." Karen didn't really think about how horny she was when she quickly stood from the concrete bench. She didn't really think about the 'six inches rule' that she'd been admonished for on her last visit to Frank's cell. Karen didn't even think about the fact that she probably had less than ninety seconds to complete her task before the uniformed guard returned. The only thought that passed through Karen Page's head in that moment was the same one she had said; 'I can fix that.' She knew her hands would be smaller and nimbler than his and she figured that she could, probably, work his shirt tails under that chain rather easily.

Frank wasn't ready for her to move that fast.

He'd become accustomed to her hesitant hand ringing and flighty little 'ums' and 'ohs' and it was cute. She was cute; at a distance. Frank wanted to keep it that way. His heart still bled, open and raw, in his chest, for his family; his wife. Frank couldn't reconcile it in his own mind; the utter horror he felt every morning on waking to discover his family's murder was not some horrible nightmare and the twist in his chest, hope, when he knew Karen was coming. They both made him feel things he'd rather not. Emotions were sticky things; like blood and he'd rather keep his where they belonged; Inside. So, now, when she moved across the floor Frank's first instinct was to move away from her hands.

Karen, focused on the task at hand, stopped mere inches from Frank; hands going to the iron around his waist.

Frank flinched away. Iron scraped iron. He couldn't help it. She was too close. This was too close. "You can't touch me," he rasped.

Karen jerked her hands back, as if she'd been burned, freezing with her fingers inches from his waist. Taking just the briefest moment to think about her actions she realized this might be difficult for him. She'd touched him before but that had been, accidental. Accidentally on purpose but, they had been slight brushes. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly; keeping her voice even.

Frank gave a derisive snort, "I don't think that's what they're worried about."

Karen exhaled slowly as she inched her hands higher and let them lightly rest on Frank Castle's biceps. She felt corded muscle twitch under the cotton blended shirt and jacket but, he didn't pull away this time. "You're not going to hurt me either," she said softly.

"You sure about that?"

Karen felt upending frustration as her heart split for the hundredth time for Frank Castle. She was close enough to feel his breath, "Yes," she said firmly. If Karen hadn't been watching his face she would have missed the barely noticeable nod. She let go of a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and, taking the nod as permission, she let her hands glide along the outline of Frank Castle and snaked them under his suit jacket.

Frank held his body as still as possible as he felt her nimble fingers find the edge of his shirt. She was working the shirt under the chain now, the cloth folding under chain links inch by inch.

He wasn't flinching or twitching anymore and Karen couldn't help but marvel at the feel of Frank's body under her fingers.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she took another step towards him, closing the short gap, so she could reach the small of his back and finish working the fabric under iron.

Frank closed his eyes at the feel of her body pressed against chest. Every thought focusing on keeping his granite form immobile under her hands. His traitorous dick twitched and a muscle clicked in his jaw as he ground his teeth.

"I'm going to tuck it in your pants now." The words came out breathier than Karen intended and she closed her eyes briefly to steady her hands before she continued.

She took a step back and heard Frank groan.

Frank groaned at the loss of contact when her body pulled away from his.

"Did I hurt you?"

Frank opened his eyes and looked down into gaping endless pools of blue. He shook his head; not trusting himself to speak.

"Good," Karen said softly as she took the hem of his shirt and pushed it under the waistband of the loosely fitting slacks. Her fingertips lingered on warm skin pulled taught over steel corded muscle.

Frank hissed at the touch and Karen held his gaze. This had gone from helpful to something else entirely in less than thirty seconds.

"Don't play with me Doll." The gravel in his voice held a hint of darkness.

Karen froze, suddenly painful self aware of their current situation. She swallowed, audibly. "I, ah, Frank." The smell of the prison came back all at once, industrial disinfectant, metal, and lead paint. She stepped back; putting a little more distance between them and, as she did, he reached forward covering her hand at his waistband with his larger cuffed ones.

"I can get it from here," he said.

Karen didn't move to take her hand back. She just let him hold it. It felt good. It felt right.

Her breathing had almost returned to normal when she heard footsteps.

Frank let go of her hand.

"Open on five," someone behind her bellowed.

Karen took another small step back.

"Got the shoes," the guard behind said as he entered the cell. The uniform stopped short taking in the pair. "Ma'am?"

Karen didn't reply and Frank noted an edging of panic around her eyes.

"Answer him," Frank mouthed.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The uniform's voice was louder now, he'd approached her and she hadn't even tracked his movement in the room.

Karen kept her eyes trained on Frank the anxiety of the moment overwhelming her body.

"Answer him," Frank's voice came out as a growl so low she was certain only she'd heard.

"Ma'am," the uniform's hand was on her shoulder now.

"I'm fine," Karen snapped as she turned on her heel; knocking the uniform's hand away.

Suddenly in full control of her extremities shame flooded her senses and Karen made a beeline for the door; snatching her messenger bag on her way past the concrete bench. 'He is my client. What the fuck was I thinking?' Angry rebukes raced through her mind. 'Jesus, Karen he trusted you and now what? Jesus, Karen; his wife. In his mind his wife died like a month ago. What the fuck are you doing?'

Karen got to the sliding bars and made two quick steps back and forth before slapping one of the rods open handed. "How do I get out of here?" The edge in her voice was so sharp it made Frank flinch halfway across the room.

When Karen turned back her eyes were wild and the uniform was directly in front of her. His eyes were kind, like her own Grandfather's had been. "You sure you're okay Ma'am?"

Karen forced herself to stop. She looked over the uniform's shoulder to Frank. He was standing in middle of the room, shiny metal chains connecting cuffs to shackles to floor and his shirt was mostly tucked in now. He was busy pushing white cloth past the black band. He paused, sensing her gaze, looked up, and met her eyes. Karen took that moment to memorize his face, not his bruises, but, the man under. Deep soulful eyes, full lips, strong jaw, corded muscle neck that disappeared into full thick shoulders and, hands that were twice as big as hers something about looking at him calmed her.

"I'm fine," Karen said; softer now. "I need to get to court. Will you make sure my client arrives by nine?"

The uniform sighed. "Open it up on 5," the uniform yelled. "Lady needs to get to court."

Karen stole one last look at Frank before she left. It was the last time she'd ever visit him in prison but, she didn't know that yet.

 **Whew…..that was a long one!**

 **Cheers and Happy writing,**

 **Rev**


	3. The Carousel Music

**So the last chapter of complete crap I posted I didn't read/edit at all because I was so tired! Therefore, I completed a re-write overhaul today! So, here is a, hopefully better, version of The Carousel Music; hope you enjoy.**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains triggers and PTSD situations from the POV of Frank Castle.**

 **ALSO: I do not own, nor do I profit in any way, from the MARVEL corp or the Daredevil franchise in any way. Sure wish I did though...**

Karen can hear her heartbeat in her ears. She's been followed all the way back to her fourth story walk-up by a patrol car, courtesy of Ellison, and now that she's in front of her building somehow she's more keyed up than when she was standing outside of of Tepper's crappy motel room watching the NYPD swarm in and out like cold weather flies.

"It wasn't Frank," she whispers as she approaches the outer door to her building. As soon as it comes out; it feels wrong. She doesn't know who she's trying to convince anymore Ellison, Matt, Foggy, or herself. But, Foggy is in the hospital, Matt is wherever the fuck Matt goes these days, Tepper will be patient on his own slab later tonight, and Ellison is still busy answering questions with the NYPD detectives at Tepper's dive motel thirty-two blocks away. That leaves her. Shit. Karen stabs the key in the outer lock. That means _she is_ doubting Frank.

"Ma'am?" The younger, sandy blonde, uniformed cop flashes her a smile and raises his eyebrows. "Did you say something Ma'am?"

"Nothing," Karen bites back. Her tone is harsher than it should be for such an innocuous question. There is a snap to the air tonight. It's a tell tale cold that comes only when fall is well and truly over and winter is settling in for its season. A stray thought crosses Karen's mind to look for her scarf while she's upstairs. The door sticks and she has to throw her shoulder into it before it pops open with whine. When she turns back to make sure the officers are still behind her she realizes that the blond one looks a little hurt so she gives him a halfhearted smile. "Just want to get out of the cold," she says offhand.

Both men return her smile like this is an acceptable excuse for her to be snappy with them; like they've completely forgotten the dead body thirty-two blocks away.

As they crowd into building's tiny entrance Karen stops to check her mailbox; out of habit more than anything. She opens it quickly and pulls out the contents. There's a water bill, a gas bill, a Capital One Credit Card Application, and a flyer from the building's super recruiting 'floor captains' for their neighborhood watch. Karen laughs at the irony. It's a hollow throaty laugh, not her usual laugh, and when it comes out she has to close her eyes and put a palm flat on the wall to steady herself. The laugh builds on itself, pulling the futility of her own will into the stale foyer, and continues with a life of its own for another ten seconds before it dies out. Karen opens her eyes and she immediately feels stupid for laughing like that, in front of people.

When Karen looks back over her shoulder the black haired cop shrugs, "We all deal in our own way Ma'am."

Karen nods at this statement; taking it in. "I'm on the fourth floor," she says.

The sandy blonde cop positions himself in front of Karen and the darker haired one stays behind her. As the trio moves up the stairs Karen has the thought that she should really learn their names but, what was the point?

Her Mother would like it if she dated a cop.

They clear her apartment with guns drawn and tiny flashlights illuminating their way. The blonde one even goes in her closet; like Frank would be in her closet. Karen stands just outside, impatient, wishing she'd done last night's dinner dishes, as they open doors and look in cabinets. It doesn't take long. A fourth floor studio walk-up in her neighborhood in smaller than than her office.

Karen doesn't wait for them to give the okay. Once she has eyeballed their progress from the safety of her entryway she comes in on her own and starts grabbing legal pads and shuffling files.

"You live here alone?" It's the blonde cop again and Karen is done playing nice. Her nerves are too frayed for small talk.

In deference to her Mother's imagined wishes she bites out "Are you gonna ask me out or do you wanna wait in the hall?"

He doesn't look hurt when she casts him a sideways glance this time. He just looks annoyed with her attitude. Fuck him. Karen, suddenly, has a distinct memory of leafing through Frank's 'associates' file and setting in on her nightstand. She crosses the room to flip through a stack of identical greenish brown folders while the cops vacate her apartment; closing the door behind them.

Frank had heard the scanners pick up the shooting downtown this morning. He'd been halfway through a cup of deep black coffee when the radio had crackled to life. 'Units 45, 48,51,56,93,94, and any Supervisor to copy; proceed to back up Officers at City Courthouse. Shots fired. I repeat; Shots Fired.' There was a break in the traffic while a myriad of voices responded with '10-4s', their unit numbers and 'Enroutes'. Dispatch crackled through again. 'All units, I repeat, all units be advised; multiple gunshot victims. Requesting transport medic 5, 6, and 9 to respond. DA Reyes among the injured. Other injured include legal representation for Frank Castle. Expect Media presence. Can I get a Supervisor 10-4?'

Frank had leaned forward, then, to place his cup down on the desk and missed. The mug shattered at his feet.

By the time had Frank gotten downtown he couldn't get within six blocks of the courthouse. He had kept his head down with a plain, worn, blue baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and a dark backpack hanging off his shoulders. He'd seen his opportunity when an elderly woman had come shuffling out of her building and he'd held the door open for her. She'd smiled at him.

Once Frank had made it to the roof of the old lady's building he'd wrestled a pair of telescoping binoculars from his backpack and trained them on the seething mass of gawkers outside the courthouse. After he located the ambulances he easily picked out the lawyer called Nelson, on a gurney, and his mouth came open a little when he saw Karen standing there; talking with him. Frank had let the binoculars down from his face then, taken a shaky breath, and worked his jaw open and shut a few times. The muscles had hurt there; from where he'd been clenching them.

Frank followed her, the rest of the day. She went to The Bulletin offices, then across the street to a taiwanese place for lunch, she didn't eat much, then back to The Bulletin, then across town to a drug and rat infested motel, where she'd called the cops, and finally home, with a police escort in tow.

Frank stood in the foyer to her apartment building, ballcap low and backpack in place, trying to figure out, logically, why he was still following her. His brain mulled over the options. One; she was in trouble and would become the next victim of Fisk's frame job. Two; He was jealous of her interactions with the cops and Ellison even though, logically, he knew he had no right to be. Or Three; He needed to protect her, like he needed to breath, like he couldn't protect his family, because she was the only good thing he had left in this world. She was the one left in the world who believed he was, or even had been, a good man and, without her, the The Punisher would be all he had left.

Frank's eyes squinched shut momentarily as he used the palms of both hands to scrub his face.

Or Four; it was, just maybe, a combination of all three.

Frank took off the hat, folded it, and jammed it in the back pocket of his jeans. He, then, stowed the backpack under the stairwell and unzipped his jacket so it would be obvious he had nothing shoved in the waistband of his jeans. It was four floors up and Frank took the stairs two at a time.

Karen was reading when the door eased open to her apartment. No one was standing in the doorway and Karen called out hesitantly.

"Officers?"

No one responded.

Hands trembling slightly Karen crossed her apartment in a quick stride and snatched her .380 out of the her underwear drawer.

It felt cold and heavy in her hands; a familiar weight.

Frank heard her grab something as he was shoving the second unconscious uniform into a maintenance closet. When he heard the small sound of the dresser drawer and heavy metal against wood he guessed she had grabbed a gun. He smiled to himself as he leveraged his weight against the maintenance closet until he heard it click shut. "Good girl," he whispered into the hallway.

Hedging his bets Frank raised both his hands away from his waist so his jacket bowed a little as he rounded the corner into view of Karen's open doorway. When he saw the gun he wasn't surprised, and something akin to pride flitted through his system, but, when he saw the naked fear in her eyes his heart broke.

"Shush…." Frank whispered as he slowly edged forward.

"Hands on your head, Frank"

Frank kept coming towards her. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that he could never hurt her, but, the military training had taken over and, his eyes were tracking her gun. He noted the tremble in her grip and her finger's slight twitch on the trigger. She was spooking like a scared Kentucky thoroughbred and, he knew, in this state she wouldn't hear his words. "Shushhh…."

Trembling fingers found the .38's hammer and cocked it back. "I mean it, Frank."

"It wasn't me." Why did he say that? It sounded so hollow coming from him but, Frank, made the split second decision that the truth had always worked for them in the past so, why shouldn't he try it now.

She was yelling now; something about 'unloading this thing' and despite his best efforts to see this from her perspective Frank found himself getting annoyed. Frank stopped moving forward and repeated himself; "It wasn't me."

Frank wasn't surprised when she instructed him to put his hands on his head again and, only because he knows he could take her at this distance if he has to, he acquiesces and starts to move his hands to cup the back of his skull.

Frank stops. Freezes. His hands are most of the way to his head when he heard something that sounded like _music_. So quiet, far away, and, yet, so familiar. Frank turned his head to look out the window, as if the view from Karen's apartment could tell him what he just heard, and, in that briefest quarter beat of his heart, his brain caught up with his ears and he knew it was that fragment of a melody from his nightmares.

It's carosel music.

Frank lunged forward and knocked the gun from Karen's hands as the hailstorm of gunfire turns the studio apartment into a war zone. His mind started to panic as he bowed his body around her. He felt his hands frame her face in an attempt to feel if her mouth is still moving. The noise is deafening and Frank thinks he can feel her gasping for air under him and, as the gunfire comes to a sudden halt, he hears a muffled cry.

She's alive.

Frank feels strangely vindicated. "Do you believe me now?"

"I believe you. I believe you."

The panic in her voice makes him feel terrible for even asking the question. "We gotta get you outta here," he grunts; forcing her to her feet. "Stay low."

Karen raced toward the hallway, leaving her apartment door open, and Frank was sure to stay close behind her into the hallway running crouched over at the waist. When he rounded the doorway and Frank stopped short.

"Frank," Maria is standing there with a hole through her chest he could fit his fist in. "Frank," she says again; panic naked in her voice. "What do I do Frank?"

Frank grunted and shook his head. Maria's face melted grotesquely into the Karen's features. He grabbed her hand and half pulls, half drags, her down the stairs. Frank heard a snapping noise when they pass the second floor and turns, pausing for a second, to see Maria bent on the stairs holding the lifeless body of Frank Jr. "No," he hears himself yell out, lunging forward, toward the step, to grab his son only to put his hands around Karen's ankle. Frank's breath catches somewhere in his chest when he realizes that it's just her shoe. Her high heel has broken off and she's trying to slip the pump off. Frank bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood, hoping the pain will keep him in reality.

'This is not the time to lose your shit,' his mind barked. 'Get it the fuck together, Frank!'

"Leave the shoes," he ground out. Wrapping his hands around her waist he lifts her out of the heels and carries her down the last three stairs to the main foyer and, setting her down, shoves her away from the front door towards the marked alley 'emergency exit.'

There is a white sticker across the push handle that reads 'Emergency Exit Only. Alarm will sound.' Karen slammed into the door with Frank pushed against her back and, as the door bangs against the brick in the alley, she can't help but notice the lack of any alarm. That's a fire hazard but, she can't concentrate on that now. Frank's grabbing at her hands again and pulling her.

"Run," Frank barked and, she does.

Karen's vision started to swim around block three and her chest is burning with the effort. Frank is basically dragging her along and, even as Karen tries to reclaim her hand, she realizes she has no hope of wrenching herself from his grasp. Frank singular in his focus as he drags her and, Karen notes, he isn't even looking back anymore. Near the end of block five Karen realizes a little too late that she's taking a wild step and her right foot comes down on something that crunches under her sole. A sudden pain lights up her instep and Karen gave an involuntary cry of pain. Frank froze in front of her so abruptly that her momentum slams her body into his back.

Frank had ahold of Maria's hand and was pulling her away from their children's bodies; trying to save her. This time they'd made it out of the park. This time he almost believed they were going to be okay. This time they would make it. This time would be different. This time he would save her. But, then, he heard it; a sharp, sudden, cry of pain came from behind him and he froze. Down deep, at his core, Frank knew his wife had just been shot.

Frank turned, slowly, to face his wife but, it wasn't his wife.

They hadn't made it out of the park.

Frank took stock of Karen's form before him. She was breathless, her chest was heaving as she leaned her left side heavily on Frank's right forearm. She was holding her right foot with her right hand, pain evident on her face, and Frank's whole body stiffened as he saw the crimson rivulets escaping between her fingers. Her shoes; he'd told her to leave her shoes.

Acting more out of ingrained military chivalry than actual thought Frank leaned forward and, easily, scooped Karen's form into his arms.

She wasn't Maria.

He could feel that now.

Maria's body had been shorter; fuller. With thick full hips and a slender waist Maria had fit against him much differently than Karen was now. Karen was a gangly thing, all legs and arms, but, remarkably, she was all soft curves against his chest. The joints that looked so sharp from Frank's normal distance melted into his grasp like the folding wings of a dove. Frank ducked in an alley between two brownstones and shoved the cleanest looking piece of forgotten cardboard he could find against a brick wall. His knees protested as he crouched and set her on the marginally clean brown square.

Karen felt her whole body begin to shake as Frank sat her down. She'd just got her breathing under control and now her teeth wouldn't stop chattering. Sweat broke out across her forehead and her chest felt hot. Karen tried to stop the shaking. Closing her eyes so she could focus Karen was startled to feel Frank's hands on her face, then in her hair, on her arms, her chest, a flat palm found it's way across her belly and then there were strong hands running down her thighs.

"F-frank," Karen chattered.

Frank's eyes snapped up to meet hers; searching for some sign of injury or pain.

"F-f-frank," Karen tried again. "I c-c-can't st-st-st-op shak-k-k."

Two firm hands came to either side of Karen's face and she tried her best to focus on the sound of Frank's voice.

"You're going to be fine Karen."

He said her name. She tried a smile only to find she couldn't get her lips to work right. What was he saying now?

"It's adrenaline; an overload. Your body built it up and let it loose when we got attacked. 'Fight or Flight.' You've just have too much in your system and, now that you've stopped, your body's trying to burn it out. You're going to be fine. Just breath."

Frank watched as her shaking breath turned to intermittent hiccups; her eyes trained on his the whole time.

'God she is so goddamn beautiful.' The thought startled him. Frank was unprepared for how it wound around his soul and twisted in his gut.

The kiss surprised them both.

Frank lurched forward, planting his right hand on the wall near her ear for support, and crushed his mouth down against hers. Their teeth bumped and someone's canine caught on someone's lip. Frank tasted blood and he didn't know if it was his or hers and he didn't care. The taste pulled at his desire; dragging it screaming into the alley with them. Teeth scraped on teeth again and someone moaned. Her hands were on his neck; thin fingers gripping hard enough to bruise; clipped fingernails biting into skin where hair was buzzed short. Frank moved his hands from her face to her neck and then her breasts. Karen arched into his touch and Frank's mouth moved to her neck. Teeth bit at flesh. Karen cried out as need slicked through her abdomen and pooled between her thighs and the predator in him growled at the noise; moving his body forward to cover hers.

Karen froze. Her foot lit up with pain for the second time in ten minutes.

Frank felt her body change beneath his. She loosed a high pitched whine and, this time, it was a painful sound. He came away from her sharply, all at once, breaking any connection their bodies had and rocked back, crouched, on the balls of his feel. With a frustrated growl, noted blood on his knee. He'd bumped her foot. 'How the fuck had he been so careless?'

Karen's shaking had subsided and she now felt hot and prickly all over. Save the pain in her foot, she thought, it was the best she'd felt in days. The absurdity of that thought almost made her laugh out loud.

Karen watched, wincing only slightly, as Frank carefully lifted her foot. He propped it up on his knee and grimaced, thoughtfully, at the sole.

"Is it bad?" Karen asked; shocked at how steady her voice was now.

"You'll live," he replied; giving her half a sliding smirk.

Karen started to say something else witty but had to bite her lip, to stifle a scream, as Frank's thick fingers plowed through the open wound.

"Got the glass," he said simply.

Karen nodded; tears threatened her gaze.

Frank stood, bringing Karen up to her feet with him. She came up gingerly, keeping most of her weight on her left foot.

Frank felt flushed. Karen kept her hand against his chest, to steady herself, as she tested her right sole and the skin burned, under his cotton t-shirt, where she touched him. He could still taste blood in his mouth. His dick was half hard and the animal inside screamed for him to press her against the filthy brick and take her from behind. 'Mark her. Make her ours; she's not safe without us,' it bellowed. 'She's not safe with us,' another, smaller, voice whispered. When Frank looked up Maria was standing behind Karen's left shoulder. The hole in her chest a bottomless, black, mawing, pit.

Karen let out a breath she'd been holding as she finally put a 'walkable' amount of weight on her right foot. The pain was still there but, the sharp 'cutting' feeling was gone. She nodded as she looked up to Frank. "It's better," she said, dropping her hand from his chest.

Frank hands twitched by his sides. He needed to touch her; just one more time.

Hesitantly Frank brought his hands hands to her head, smoothing through her hair, and Karen thought, just for a second, that he might kiss her again but, instead, she felt his lips on the top of her head. His voice came out raw, like cheap whiskey roadway gravel, and it made her head ache to hear the agony in his inflection. "You have to go back," he whispered into the part of her hair.

Karen only nodded. She felt his hands drop away from her and he stepped back.

"Do you think you can walk?" He rasped as he backed up again.

Karen nodded a second time.

"I'll be watching you." There was a long pause and Frank chose his next words carefully; "You're safe." He backed away from her slowly and, was almost at the end of the alley, before Karen witnessed his form disappear; into the dark.

Karen turned the other way then, back toward her apartment and the sirens, into the light.

 **Still working on the end to "The Bottomless Cup." Shooting for Saturday.**

 **Until then...**

 **Cheers and Happy Writing,**

 **Rev**


	4. The Bottomless Cup

**As always I make absolutely nothing on Daredevil or any aspect of the Marvel Universe. I'm so sorry for the extreme delay in updating. This chapter was tough for me to write and I'm not sure why.**

 **Hopefully, though, you will enjoy!**

Karen Page stared at the tiny screen on her iphone. She'd opted for the four inch model and, now that everyone was running around with five and six inch screens in their pockets, it seemed miniscule in her hands.

'WILL GET CAR. MEET DOWNSTAIRS IN 15'

The message had come in from a blocked number just after Karen had dropped the hotel room's security chain in place. Karen gave a sideways glance at the small, utilitarian, alarm clock on the bedside table then back at the phone. The message had come in ten, no eleven, minutes ago. Karen knew it was Frank; it had to be Frank. She wiped some imaginary detritus off the screen. But, what if it wasn't Frank?

The phone buzzed and Karen almost dropped it.

'IN PARKING GARAGE. - F'

"Well," Karen muttered to an empty room, "I guess that solves that mystery."

Karen continued to stare at the phone. Her curiosity was overwhelming. They'd just seen each other last night and, while she had a million questions, she couldn't figure out why he would risk coming to her when she was under protective custody. Karen pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to get her spiraling thoughts to slow down. She had to go to him; she had to. There was no way for her to get any other answers to her questions and, she had a shitload of questions.

The phone buzzed again and Karen jumped. "Jesus, I have to get a grip," she said to herself.

'YOU WILL RECOGNIZE CAR. - F'

Karen stood and made a mental bargen. If the cops were sitting outside her door she would stay. She would text Frank back and tell him she couldn't leave. She would stay in protective custody.

Karen took a steadying breath and cracked the doorway to an empty hall.

The only thought she had of turning back came to her when she saw Ben's car.

Karen opened the passenger side door and slid in; the breath going out of her as she heard upbeat funk music blaring over the soundsystem. Ben's Music. Frank was saying something and, Karen couldn't pay attention. Frustrated she popped the tape out of the player with a irritable growl.

Frank proposed that she could turn back. She didn't have to go with him and Karen thought that she heard just a touch of malice in his voice; a sign that he'd already resigned himself to the fact that she shouldn't be in the car with him.

"Blacksmith already tried to get me once. I really don't wanna give him a second chance."

"He's not gonna get it." Frank's voice was low and laced with something deadly when he replied.

The tone made Karen squirm in her seat a little, close her eyes, and let out a long exhale. She was safe when she was with Frank Castle, that much she knew, but, what about the rest of the world? That was the nagging question.

Frank turned the engine over and the tan car came to life with minimal effort. When he checked the passenger mirror he noted Karen's posture had gone from hesitant to resigned; her body was laid back in the seat, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. She looked positively at peace. He wondered how she was able to do that; go from nervous to fretting to calm in the span of a minute. I didn't dawn on Frank, until he put the car in drive, that he could have played a part in the sudden quieting of her demeanor.

'She's not safe with us,' a quiet whisper insisted.

Frank adjusted the rear-view mirror so that he could look into the back seat as he pulled out of the parking garage. Maria wasn't there.

"She's safer with me." Frank barely uttered to the contrary statement to his imagined demons but, the deep notes in his voice carried.

"Hmmm?" Karen opened one eye.

Frank shook his head and turned left down Broad. "I need a cup," he said a little too loudly. "Some caffeine or something; you hungry?"

Karen opened both eyes and gave him her best 'what the fuck' look. "You're driving," she said.

"I'll stop when you do."

Karen let her mind drift as Frank drove. She kept her eyes closed and relished the brief opportunity to feel safe; such opportunities were coming fewer and farther between in her current life.

Less than fifteen minutes later Frank pulled up to a glass front diner in a part of Hell's Kitchen that could, generously, be described as sketchy. A metal placard over the middle window read 'The Kitchen's Finest Bottomless Cup of Joe.' Frank got out of the car, fished a blue baseball cap from his back pocket, and pulled it low over his brow before heading toward the diner. Karen followed him inside and they took a booth where he could face the solitary entrance. Frank turned the thick ceramic coffee cup over and signaled the waitress. Karen's slim fingers ran the length of her identical mug; waiting for him to break the silence.

"Do you have anything new for me?" Frank finally asked.

Susanna, the waitress, came over with an orange lipped coffee pot and gave them both a smile as she poured. "Can I get you folks anything?" She offered.

Karen gave a curt shake of her head and remained silent as Frank spoke, "I'm gonna need just about as much black coffee as this place can pump out. So, just keep it coming."

Susanna offered Frank the knowing smile of a woman who had far more experience reading people than any psychologist ever would. "Will do darlin'." She replied, "Fresh pot; coming up."

When they were alone again Frank rephrased his question. "Anything new from the cops?"

Karen gave a halfhearted chuckle; "Only that they want you dead."

"How about that DA?"

Karen shook her head. "Only that the blacksmith is moving unprecedented amounts of narcotics into the country."

"How's that?"

Karen sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "Well that's the mystery. I'm thinking.."

Karen kept talking but, Frank was only half listening. A rusted out Buick was making its second trip around block. Two men in the vehicle. The butt of a shotgun was barely visible in the bottom corner of the back passenger window.

"I know you'd never lie to me."

Frank's focus snapped back forward. What had she said? Shit; he'd missed it. She'd been talking about her gun. He'd asked her if she picked it out. Idle conversation as he sized up the car. But, the way she said that last line tripped something in his brain.

"Does he?" Frank rasped.

Karen froze. "Who?"

"Come on," Frank slid her half a smile, "let's not do that."

Karen froze. 'How does he know? How the fuck does he know?' "Um…" Karen stalled for time. 'Don't lie to him,' a tiny voice inside her whispered. "Yeah, Yeah," Karen conceded. The admission felt dirty. She felt, wrong, for saying it outloud; like she was betraying Matt in some way. She needed to explain. "He's got issues," She began, "It's complicated."

Frank's gut twisted as he watched her squirm. Jealousy rippled through him as the memory of his hands on her breasts ghosted through his fingers. The smell of her need was less than a day ago, still fresh in his mind, and he flexed his fingers as he watched her try to justify Murdock's bad behavior. A sudden and disturbing thought occurred to him. "You love him, right?"

Karen was shaking her head even as Frank asked it. "You can't know that."

"I'm sorry, can't know what?" The resigned note in Frank's voice carried with it a touch of sadness at her reluctance to tell him the truth. "Come'on, in court, all that shit goin' on. It was written all of your face. You love him."

Karen felt pained. She had felt, 'something', for Matt. She did feel, 'something', for Matt. But, it wasn't something she wanted to tell Frank. She wanted to tell Frank to shut up, that it was all a lie, it was something he'd imagined, but, it wasn't and it wouldn't be the truth even if she did. "It's a lot of things, feelings," she tried, "but, it's not love." And, that was the truth.

Frank gave her a sideways look, motioned for his coffee to be refilled, and called bullshit. But, the bullshit call was lie. He knew as soon as she said it that she didn't love Murdock. She was struggling with feelings for him, some kind of guilt, but, she didn't love him. None the less it was easier, somehow, to believe that she loved Murdock. That she would leave Frank's own side, marry a lawyer, write a pulitzer winning story, get pregnant, and have scads of a adorable gangly children. Live a safe life. Live.

Frank tried to play it off with an honest story about his wife, tease her a little, make her smile. He had to see her smile one last time. 'This might be your last time,' he thought as the rusty Buick pulled up to parallel park in front of the diner. He was rambling now, attempting to get his point across. It made him sick deep in his gut but, he needed to know she would go to Murdock. She needed to love him even if it wasn't perfect. Love isn't perfect; she had to know that. There is no prince, no one was coming on a white horse, she had to fight for it. She had to hold on with both hands.

Two men exited the Buick.

Frank brought his palm over her hand on her coffee cup sandwiching it neatly between his warmth and the ceramic mug. His instructions were clipped and clear, "You need to go now," he started.

Karen's eyes widened as he spoke. When Frank finished his directions she jerked her hand away like she'd been burned. "You're such an asshole," Karen bit out.

The anger in her voice made Frank flinch so hard anyone watching might have thought she'd slapped him and they'd missed it. "Yeah," he sighed, "You got that right."

Karen's heart dropped into her stomach as she stood and began to move toward the diner's counter. She wasn't afraid, Frank would kill these men, she knew that. 'Fuck, Frank will kill these men.' The gravity of what was about to happen struck her soundly as Susanna covered her mouth and bustled to the kitchen in front of Karen. Frank would kill these men and keep on killing.

He wouldn't stop.

Susanna grabbed a sixty something man in a dingy white apron by the shoulder and drug him behind a prep-table near the walk-in freezer.

Six rapid shots.

Karen dropped into a crouch next to Susanna and forced her hands down hard over her ears.

Everything seemed to slow down and there were a tight cluster of noises like someone was beating wet meat with a hammer.

A shotgun blast echoed.

Then another.

As Karen squeezed her eyes shut, as tightly as she could, the same terrible thought echoed in her head.

'He will never stop.'

A third shotgun blast.

'He will never stop killing.'

Grunting and crashes.

'He should never stop.'

Single shot.

'He should kill them all.'

"No," Karen whispered. Shaking her head adamantly back and forth. "No," she pleaded with herself as the sounds of Frank's demanding questions drifted back to the kitchen. Tears crested her eyes as visions of Weasley's lifeless body drifted through her memory. She didn't want to be the kind of person that wanted people dead. She didn't want to be but, God help her, she was. Some people deserved death. Some people deserved to be punished.

The gunshots had ceased and there were only unknown soft, wet, sounds punctuated by ragged panting.

Karen stood and moved to the tiny kitchen doors. She saw his face then, covered in blood, his eyes were focused on something far away,

"Frank?"

Frank turned and looked at her. His eyes remained unfocused. Karen gasped; the sheer volume of blood on his face was unnerving. The gore extended onto his chest, down his arms, and across split knuckles. Karen moved slightly closer to the door, gasped again, and moved back. "Oh my God," she stammered, "Oh my God.

The bloody pile of meat closest to the kitchen door appeared to be holding in his intestines. Karen hadn't looked long enough to see if he was still alive. Karen started to speak again but, didn't get the chance.

"You need to call the police," Frank grunted. There was a slight wheeze with the effort in his voice, "Get protective custody."

Karen tried to answer but, found she still had her hand over her mouth. She nodded instead. Tears flowing freely now.

Frank choked a little, blood catching in his throat. "Get away from this thing. Get away from me." Frank looked away from her. He knew what he had to say and he didn't trust himself to get it out while he looked in her terrified eyes. She was scared of him; he knew it now. His chest tightened painfully.

When Frank turned his gaze away from Karen he wasn't surprised to see Maria at the bar. As Frank watched Maria stood, silently, from her stool and moved to leave the diner. When she made it to the door she simply walked through the glass and stood on the other side, looking in, waiting. Frank cleared his throat and fought the tightness in his chest. "Just stay away from me," he growled and, before he could change his mind, Frank followed his wife into the night.

THE KITCHEN'S FINEST BOTTOMLESS CUP OF JOE

Karen stared at the sign; reading it over and over. She shivered as the wind whipped her hair around her head. The sign in the diner's window read closed in big red letters.

Karen was so cold. So damn cold. She moved around the diner toward the door. Plywood was covering small circular holes in the door's glass where shotgun pellets had penetrated. She knew, from standing behind that door three days ago, that most of the glass near the door handle had been broken away completely. She reasoned that would probably be the reason for the plywood.

Karen reached up and traced black marker letters on the plywood. 'Closed for renovations.'

Karen had no clue why she thought the diner would be open. Frank had demolished it saving her, no, using her as bait. After he had left three nights ago, after the cops had come, after the bodies had been taken away, Karen had really been able to really see the damage; shattered windows, splintered counters, and stained floors. She slammed her hand down on the plywood; a tendril of anger sliding through her as the wind picked up.

This wasn't fair.

Karen kicked the door as an unexpected sob escaped her.

She had been in a massive car wreck, kidnapped, threatened, rescued, and, for some reason she couldn't bring herself to go home. It was all too much.

Karen kicked the door again before banging on the plywood twice with closed fists.

She hadn't been able to go home after the Devil had rescued her from the ninjas. Fucking ninjas. What was happening to her? How was this her life now? Karen grabbed the door handle and yanked as she continued to kick the lower section of plywood. She hadn't been able to go home so, she'd gone to work and written the story of a lifetime. She'd poured everything she had into those words before sending a digital copy to Ellison's dropbox. And, yet, when she'd left The Bulletin's front doors she still couldn't go home.

So Karen had walked, aimlessly, and, somehow, she'd ended up here; banging on the door of an empty diner in a sketchy part of town she normally wouldn't have caught dead in.

Then again, what was normal these days? Yesterday she was held hostage by ninjas.

Karen was startled as she felt tears roll and scorch her cheeks. Her hands found the edges of the plywood and pulled, trying to fit her fingertips between the panel and glass. She bit down on her lower lip as she put a foot against the door frame for leverage. Karen tasted blood on her lip at the same time the plywood whined and let loose from the doorframe. She now found herself staring at a three inch gap where the edge of the plywood closest to the door handle had pulled away.

Karen pulled her hands away, startled by her own actions, and wiped the excess tears from her face. "What the fuck am I doing?" She whispered into December air. "I'm not going to fit through there."

Then, slowly, almost as if she were not in control of her own actions, Karen snaked her hand between the plywood and the door, through the hole in the glass, and unlocked the door. When Karen pulled on the door it slid open easily; in a trance, Karen stepped inside the silent diner.

It was so quiet. There were no gunshots, no wet sounds of fit of fists hitting flesh, and no Frank.

Was she looking for him? Is that why she was here?

When Karen pondered the question that abandoned road next to Ben's car came screaming back to her.

"You do this and I'm done. That's it. You're dead to me."

Karen staggered forward. She'd said that and now she was here; like he'd be here after that. She could have sworn she'd seen him on the rooftop of her captor's buildings; after the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had set her free. Was he part of that? Did he bring the Devil to her? She couldn't be sure. God, she wasn't sure of anything right now except the fact that she just wanted to feel safe and, bizarrely enough, this was last place she'd felt that. Here with Frank.

Karen moved forward stumbling a little, over her own feet. Her limbs felt cold and clumsy. She made it to the little booth she'd shared with Frank and sat facing the door, in his seat. Karen shifted on the vinyl, reached forward and removed a stack of paper napkins from the dispenser. She wiped her face until the napkins came away dry and left the crumpled wads on the table before taking a steadying breath.

"Allright Page you've come this far; breaking and entering you might as well get something out of it." Karen spoke out loud the noise of her own voice bolstering her confidence. She turned and looked out the window, realizing that anyone could see her, and saw, instead, the back of a sign.

THE KITCHEN'S FINEST BOTTOMLESS CUP OF JOE

Karen stood, moving with purpose now, and crossed the diner to the bar. She slipped behind the ceramic counter and headed toward the coffee maker. Karen opened cabinets in search of filters and grounds. When she finally found what she needed she turned on the machine grabbed the orange lipped pot and made it all the way to the sink to fill it before she realized the bottom was missing from the carafe. With a sigh Karen dropped the carafe into a trash can by the sink and gripped the edge of the sink with both hands. Her lip curled back and Karen loosed a screamed to the vacant kitchen; anger and frustration finally getting the better of her. She screamed for the holes in her apartment, the fucking ninjas that took her, and the safety that eluded her. She screamed until her voice broke and her breath failed. Then, silently, chest heaving, Karen sunk to her knees on the tile.

Karen jumped when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She felt a fleeting slip of joy at the idea that it might be Frank, a cryptic text from a blocked number, but, the phone buzzed a second time, then a third; it was ringing.

Karen slipped the phone from her pocket and read the display. 'Avocados at Law - CELL,' Karen smiled. Foggy had programed her phone months ago when she'd been so frustrated with the thing she'd nearly thrown it across the floor. Karen slid the green arrow across the screen and brought the phone to her ear.

"Foggy," Karen started.

There was silence on the other end and then a steady voice; Matt's voice. "Karen."

"What do you want Matt?" The question came out sounding harsher than she intended.

"Where are you Karen?"

Karen looked around the abandoned kitchen. "Getting a cup a coffee. What do you want Matt."

"I need you to come to the office."

The way he said the word 'need' did a funny thing Karen's resolve. He said the word 'need' like a dying man 'needed' a cure, like a drowning man 'needed' a life vest, like he had to have her at the office in order to live and, despite her resolve to be done with Matt and his bullshit, her answer surprised her. "When do you need me there?"

There was a pause.

"Karen are you okay?"

"Matt, when do you need me at the office?"

He sighed on the other end. "I can be there in half an hour. I'm leaving my house now."

"I'm not too far away," Karen replied, "I'll meet you there."

Karen hit the end button on her screen before she could change her mind. On the way out of the diner she grabbed a black Sharpie off the kitchen counter.

After leaving Karen slipped her hand between the plywood and through the broken glass to relock the door before pushing the plywood back into place. There was still a gap but, it was less noticeable.

Karen turned to leave, paused and turned back to the door. Sharpie in hand she scrawled "The Cup is Empty" on the plywood, sighed, and walked away, leaning into the cold December wind.

 **Hope you enjoyed.**

 **Next chapter will be the last in this series! I'll try to wrap it up in the next two weeks (Hopefully sooner).**

 **Until next time; Cheers and Happy Writing,**

 **Rev**


	5. The Batsignal

**Writer's Note: I, obviously, do not own any of the Marvel OR DC characters. I make no money off these stories and deeply appreciate all your support in reading my musings. :) I apologize profusly for how long this chapter has taken to post. There is no excuse other than the fact that these two character REFUSED to cooperate with me! I finally, after many rewrites, feel that I've gotten to a place that genuinely represents these two. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTACT, STRONG LANGUAGE, and ADULT SITUATIONS. Oh, and save the hate mail, I don't _really_ think Batman's a pussy. It just fit the story. Sorry to all Batman fans out there!**

It would be almost eight months before Karen saw Frank again.

Mid July was cooking the Kitchen on the type of high heat that let you fry an egg on the sidewalk and Karen had taken to languishing late at The Bulletin's offices in an effort to escape the stifling oven of her un-air-conditioned apartment. If she didn't leave until after eight in the evening most days the temperature would be below ninety degrees and she could walk all the way home without sweating through her sleeveless blouses. However, today was not one of those days and, as Karen slipped out of the cool air conditioned lobby of JFK and hailed a cab, she delighted in the fact that it was already well after ten at night, below eighty degrees, and she need not worry about the walk home or ruining yet another silk blouse.

Her trip had been longer than planned but, still not long enough for Karen to appreciate everything she had wanted to see in DC.

'No sightseeing,' Ellison had admonished when he'd handed her the economy class ticket the Bulletin had paid for, 'you're there to work and come home.'

But, the Senate hearings on the 'mutant issue' had lasted two days longer than anyone had predicted so, after limited debate, Ellison had finally agreed to let The Bulletin's best editorial writer stay for the whole session. Karen had seized the opportunity to examine the dinosaur bones in the National Museum of History, get her picture taken by the Lincoln Memorial, and even squeeze in a late tour of the White House. After all the Senate hearings only lasted till three and Karen wasn't the kind of girl that waited around her hotel room flipping channels.

Karen lugged her hard sided suitcase into the taxi's back seat with her, gave the cabbie her building's numbers, and leaned back in the seat closing her eyes. She'd pounded out three thousand words on the plane ride home and e-mailed it to Ellison as soon as they'd landed. Story; done. Trip; done. Sleep; coming soon.

The cab was three blocks from her building when, for no apparent reason, Frank popped into Karen's mind. She hadn't thought about him all damn week and, now, images of him in his floor length leather duster swam behind her lids and Karen could swear she smelled him; gun oil and black coffee. This wasn't the first time this had happened but, thankfully, it was happening less frequently. The weeks after he'd left her in that diner had been a confusing inferno of emotions. She'd been pissed then sad; happy he was out of her life and devastated at the thought of never seeing him again. And, she hadn't, seen him again, at least she couldn't be positive it was him, but, still, she would swear he'd been there. There were a handful of times she'd looked over her shoulder walking home alone at night. Times when she would swear that someone had been following her and then they'd vanished; or maybe no one had been there in the first place. She'd blamed it on late night shadows but, late night shadows don't smell like gun oil and black coffee.

The cab eased to a stop in front of Karen's building and Karen shoved two twenties through the little doorway in the plastic barrier between her and the cabbie.

Karen kicked the door open with her foot and pulled the suitcase out of the taxi behind her. The cabbie's light flicked back on and Karen let the momentum of his driving slam the door closed as he drove off before she had a chance to do it. "Thanks for the ride," Karen called with a half sigh into sticky night air. She took a moment, then, to breath in deeply. Whatever she'd been smelling before was gone; replaced, now, by the unmistakable scent of urine from the alley and yeasty bread from the bakery two structures over. Karen looked around and saw no mysterious figures, no shadows, and no Frank. It was 11:34pm on a Tuesday night and she was well and truly alone.

Consciousness came screaming back to Frank Castle with all the grace and gentleness of a stampede of elephants. His eyes snapped open with the acuity of a predator and he took a half a second to reassess his surroundings before unclenching his fists. The coolness of the tile floor under his bare thighs was a stark contrast to the humidity in the tiny bathroom. Frank took a shaky breath and pulled the needle nosed pliers out of the meat of his thigh. He'd passed out again. It wasn't that he didn't feel pain, some people didn't understand that, it was that the pain was inconsequential to the job at hand; something that could be shoved to the side until a task was completed. Sometimes, however, his body didn't agree with him and, despite his best efforts, it took breaks on his behalf.

Frank took the large measuring cup of tepid water and poured it over the widened wound in his leg. Using his left hand he sloshed the excess water off and let it pool on the floor under his leg. Frank then retrieved the penlight from where it had rolled under the sink and squinted as he shined the tiny beam of light down into the wound. "Son of a Bitch," he muttered to no one in particular. He still couldn't see the fucking bullet. Just fucking perfect. A perfect end to the perfect fucking week. Or, maybe, it was the next week? He was hungry so, it'd been at least a day; maybe two. He had no idea, really, how long he'd been here, on the floor of her bathroom.

After, he'd managed to catch up with the shitbirds trafficking kidnapped eleven year old girls out of Cuba, that was Friday, he'd gone after every goddamn buyer in New York state, that took most of Saturday. So it was Saturday night he'd been back in town to find his safe house outside of Harlem had been compromised only to make it uptown and discover three Cuban shitbags in his apartment. That's when it had happened. He didn't even know he'd been hit until he was in the car and driving away. Frank had killed them all but, he couldn't stay there now. He'd driven around for what seemed like hours before finally finding himself next to Karen's building. He knew he had to get the bullet out. He knew Karen would be out of town; he'd been monitoring her e-mails for months. Frank had climbed the fire escape in what must have been the early hours of Sunday morning, utilizing only his right leg and arms, and let himself into Karen's apartment through the alley window. It was painfully easy to get in; frightening really.

Frank cracked his neck and grimaced as he shoved the needle nose pliers back into the bullet hole. He'd practically ransacked her apartment looking for a first aid kit. Who doesn't have a first aid kit? Or even a box of bandaids for that matter? Frank took a quick succession of shallow breaths, braced himself, and pulled the handles of the pliers apart, widening the hole. Sweat poured off his face and his eyes burned with it. He couldn't believe she didn't have fucking air-conditioning. It was 2016 for fuck's sake. Who doesn't have fucking airconditioning? But, she'd had a tool kit under the kitchen sink. Frank grimaced as he shifted the pliers and widened the hole the other way. No first aid kit, no air-conditioning, but, a tool kit under the sink. It was so….Karen. Frank pulled the pliers out and repeated his examination with the pen light. Still no fucking bullet. Fuck. Frank let his head thud against the bathroom wall. "Fuck," he whispered.

Karen gave up carrying her suitcase on the third floor of her apartment building and, despite the late hour, let it thud up each step as she drug it up the final flight. She was bone tired and looking forward to her clean soft cotton sheets and stripping down to nothing in her own apartment. What could she say; the heat brought out the nudist in her. Karen had just barely opened the door when she smelled the unmistakable hint of copper on the stale air of her apartment. Her breathing quickened and she mentally planned out the fastest route to her .38 in her underwear drawer. Her breathing stopped altogether when she slid the door open further to see her .38 laying out on her kitchen counter. It was where anyone's eyeline would fall directly after opening the front door. The slide was locked back and the clip was sitting on top of the firearm pointed so she could tell the clip was fully loaded. Whoever had placed her gun there wanted her to have it as soon as she walked in the door. Whoever had placed her gun there wanted her to feel safe in her own home. Whoever had placed her gun there didn't want her to be afraid. Karen took two shaky steps inside and closed the door behind her. She locked the bolt behind her and put the chain in place before taking her .38, sliding the clip home, and whispering a single word. "Frank?"

When Frank awoke again his reflexes almost got the best of him. He was being crowded by a body. A body that wasn't there just a minute ago. His hands shot out grabbing at the form and just as his fingers curled around the forearms of his attacker he heard Karen's voice. "Frank, it's me," Karen spoke urgently. "Let me help you."

Frank shook his head, willing his vision to clear, as Karen's face came into focus. "You're not supposed to be home till late Tuesday," he croaked. When did his voice get so rough?

Karen had a monstrous hinged box open on the sink and was routing through it. Karen laughed, but, it was the humorless kind of laughter, as she picked up her phone on off the back of the toilet and showed him the readout. "It is Tuesday," she replied dryly. "Well, technically," Karen glanced at the readout herself, "it's Wednesday morning."

Frank looked to his left leg and saw that the wound had been covered with a sizable stack of gauze. "I gotta get the bullet out," he started as he made to brush the gauze from his thigh.

Karen was on him faster than he could track her. Her hands covered his as she shook her head adamantly. "I'll get the bullet Frank." She spoke the statement as a command. "You're unbelievably dehydrated; I'm surprised you're conscious at all. How long have you been here?"

Frank did the math quickly in his head. It was harder than it should have been. "Three days," he croaked.

Karen sighed and produced a pair of forceps, a scalpel, a length of tubing, and a large bag of saline from the box on the sink. She hung the saline from a shower curtain ring and attached the tubing. "Hold this," she said handing Frank the scalpel and forceps before tying off his left arm just above the elbow. Frank's veins came to the surface after a few seconds of coaxing and Karen pulled the skin taut before pushing the needle in and taping the tubing to his forearm so the slender length couldn't be accidentally pulled out of his vein. When Karen looked up she saw Frank watching her intently. "What?" She asked with a half smile. She chuckled nervously and spoke again before giving him a chance to answer. "You're the one who encouraged me to go after Matt. Let's just say that relationship, while short lived, came with some technical skills."

Frank chuckled and then hissed when Karen used the distraction to douse his left leg in rubbing alcohol.

"Where the hell did you have all this shit?" Frank gestured vaguely toward the medkit on the bathroom sink.

"Under my bed," Karen said. She kneeled down next to Frank's leg and positioned herself so she was straddling his thigh.

Frank shook his head at her response. He'd looked everywhere else in this apartment but, it had never occurred to him to look under her bed. Under her bed was somehow too private. That was where women kept diaries and dildos and shit.

Karen let her weight rest lightly on Frank's shin. It was the only way she could think to hold his leg still.

"Don't suppose I can talk you into going to the hospital?" Karen asked as she ripped open the paper packages around the hermetically sealed scalpel and forceps.

"Get on with it." Frank grunted.

Karen moved the alcohol drenched gauze pads from Frank's leg.

"Karen"

Karen looked up from Frank's leg and met uncertain eyes. There was something there. Something very 'un-Frank'; vulnerability.

"Thank you," Frank grunted.

"Thank me when it's over," she replied. And, with those word, Karen Page sliced deeply into the meat of Frank Castle's left thigh. It took her twelve minutes to remove three bullet fragments.

Frank didn't move the entire time.

Sun spilled in Karen's windows on Wednesday afternoon. After stitching Frank's leg closed and wrapping the wound Karen had helped him, very slowly, to her bed. He was already pantsless as he'd dispatched them himself when he'd tried to remove the bullet with pliers. His shirt was another matter and she'd worked for for several minutes to carefully remove it and slide the saline bag through the arm hole. His underwear were a peculiar problem as they were soaked from the water he'd used to wash his leg. She'd considered this problem for a over a minute before Frank had cracked his eyes and slid his glance her way. "Just cut them off," he'd whispered. Karen had nodded then and, clinically, taken kitchen shears and cut both hips of his boxers.

"Can you roll?" She'd asked gently. Frank complied and rolled to the right to allow her to pull the ruined boxers from underneath him before she shoved a clean towel under him to dry up any of the water that had transferred from his boxers to the bed.

Before climbing into bed herself Karen had e-mailed Ellison to let him know that she'd gotten 'food poisoning' and probably wouldn't be in for a day or two.

Frank had already been asleep when she climbed in next to him and, now, as the stifling heat brought her back to reality, she was surprised to find that that he was still asleep at, Karen paused and felt around on the bedside table for her phone to check the time, three pm on Wednesday.

They'd slept twelve hours.

Karen was hot. Too goddamned hot. She'd slept in one of Matt's old T-shirts that had, somehow, found it's way into her apartment and a pair of loose fitting black workout shorts. Karen put her phone back on the bedside table and slid out of bed as quietly as possible before heading toward the bathroom to shower off.

When Karen returned to the bedroom she was surprised to see Frank sitting up in bed with his right leg hanging off the edge and foot on the floor. His left leg was propped lengthwise along the bed and her sheet was laid, precariously, across his lap. Despite herself Karen licked her lips. He'd removed his own IV and the empty saline bag and tubing were coiled on the floor.

Karen met his gaze evenly. "I didn't know you were up," Karen started apologetically, "I would have gotten out of the bathroom sooner." As she toweled off her hair Karen cast her gaze down to the empty saline bag. "You must have to pee by now," she added off hand.

Frank chuckled, "Fire escape," he said shortly.

Karen's lower jaw dropped open, "Eww," she groaned. "You peed off my fire escape?" She exclaimed as she threw her wet towel in Frank's general direction. Frank caught it easily midair used it to wipe a fine sheen of mid-afternoon sweat off his chest. His eyes never left her slim figure, tracking every movement, as she crossed the bedroom and sat next to him on the bed.

"You shouldn't have done that," Karen admonished lightly. "You really need to stay off it; at least let me help you get around for today."

Frank shrugged in response and ran the towel over the back of his neck before dropping it on the floor.

Karen elbowed him lightly, "How's the leg feel today?"

Frank shrugged again, "It'll heal."

"I should still take a look at it," Karen offered.

Frank found himself nodding at her words even as his thoughts drifted.

"I'll grab some gauze," Karen said as she slid off the bed.

Frank reached forward and grabbed Karen's upper arm. She gasped as she felt his fingers band her bicep. With a quick flick of his forearm Frank spun her to face him and moved his hands to her face, holding her gaze. "I'm sorry for this," he ground out. "I've kept my distance; tried to keep you safe." Frank broke his gaze and started to drop his hands but, Karen caught them and covered them with her own. Karen leaned her head forward and let her forehead rest against Franks but, he wouldn't look at her.

"Look at me," Karen whispered.

Frank closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly, willing her words to be different. He still had that dream; the one where Maria was on top of him. The one where Karen had taken her place so many months ago. The one where the women in his life all eventually ended up dead.

"Look at me," Karen pleaded.

"Goddamnit Karen," Frank rasped. "I'm so sorry for bringing this here."

His eyes were still closed and Karen's heart was breaking. She was absolutely furious inside. How dare he come here? He was right he had no business bringing any of this here; now. It should have been so much sooner, she could see that now. He should have been next to her from day one, not skulking in the shadows and squatting God knows where while he waited for whatever he'd just done to blow over. God help her, she was pissed he hadn't come to her sooner and seeing his stone face in ashy agony made it feel as if there was no way she could communicate that. She'd been nominated for three awards in under six months for her editorials. Her fan letters out numbered the three closest reporters under her and, now, in this moment, all those thousands of glorious words she'd been blessed with failed her. She didn't know if she could form a coherent sentence right now if her life depended on it and, so, she did the only thing she could think of; Karen kissed him.

Frank froze. His eyes snapped open and mind raced as her lips gently moved against his. He could feel every detail of her skin against his mouth. Her bottom lip was chapped and Frank could taste traces of blood on the corners of her lips. Without realizing he'd begun to move Frank felt his hand go to the back of Karen's head; fingers tangling in damp hair. He felt her teeth pull at his bottom lip and an animal need rolled through Frank's blood the likes of which he hadn't felt since Maria.

Karen couldn't control herself. It was so hot, even after her shower she was still so hot, and the taste of Frank's mouth only flamed her skin further. She bit at him; his lips, his neck, and his shoulders. Trying to find purchase in the blinding fire Karen was lost to the sensations and laid her face in the crook of his neck, panting as she felt his large hands span her waist and slide under her shirt.

It was an almost imperceptible tremor. Frank silently prayed that she couldn't feel it as his chest heaved and he slid his hands to her waist. He had to feel more of her. He had to know more of her skin under his fingers. He had to know it all. Breathing was secondary to knowing the feel of her skin against his.

There were no more chains or cuffs, wardens or other lawyers, to stand between them. The cops had, months ago, lost his scent and there was nothing to bring the Cubans here. The tremor in his hand fractionally increased. Karen wasn't with him because she had to be for protection, or due diligence, or even for curiosity's sake; Karen was here with him now because she needed him, just him, as much as he needed her. Her mouth stopped moving against his neck and Frank felt her lean into him and pant near his ear. She was trembling against his chest and this knowledge both emboldened and slightly terrified Frank Castle. He slid his hands under her shirt, trailing fire against damp skin, and, palms spanning her ribcage he pulled her away from his body.

Frank's sharp gaze met hazy eyes.

"Karen," he prayed her name out loud. "I want you."

The lust cleared slightly from crystalline pools of blue and Karen nodded once. Her fingers pulled at his biceps, trying desperately to bring him closer to her.

Frank licked his bottom lip and kneaded her sides with his thumbs. "I can't be the man you need, Karen. I can't be home at five. I can't have...the picket fence, the job with promotion potential, the kids." His voice trailed off at kids and Karen waited patiently for him to finish his thought. "I need you," he whispered in afterthought, "but, if we do this, there are no guarantees. I don't want to do that to you."

Karen's breathing had evened slightly and she swallowed noticeably at his words. When she finally found her voice the sentence that spilled from her lips, in hushed tones, was one of the dirtiest truths she'd ever uttered out loud.

"Every time I was with him, Matt, I pretended it was you."

Frank's breath came rushing from his chest in one exaggerated exhale. He couldn't quite make sense of the words he'd just heard.

"I don't care about any moments after this one," Karen continued. "I want it all with you but, I know that if I never see you again, I need to have this."

Frank's hands moved around her torso, under her shirt, and Karen gasped as he easily palmed both her breasts simultaneously. His ego swelled to find her nipples in stiff peaks under his calloused fingers.

"Frank I know you have your reservations," Karen gasped with a smile at his actions, "but, you can feel how much I…" Karen lost the rest of the sentence to another gasp as Frank gave her left nipple a playful tug between thumb and forefinger.

"Done talking," Frank growled pulling her back, flush to his body. His brain had finally caught up with her earlier words and lust wound its way around any sense of chivalry still present; strangling it out with his desire. Frank's hands rucked her shirt up until Karen got the hint and assisted in pulling it over her head. His mouth secured to her right breast Karen felt his hands smooth along her body, drifting downward, until they came to rest, lightly on the waistband of her gym shorts.

"Please," Karen uttered. Her eyes were closed, chin tilted to the ceiling, exposing the smooth creamy column of her neck and, in that moment, Frank thought she may have been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Taking her plea as permission Frank hooked his fingers in the waistband of her shorts and pulled down. They slid easily down her legs and pooled silently on the floor. His breath caught for a moment. Clothed he'd always found Karen to be beautiful. Sure her arms and legs went on for days and, in his experience, gravity hadn't always been kind to her but, her skin was the color of sweet cream, her hair glinted like spun gold in the sunlight, and her tenacity was the stuff of legends. Nude was an entirely different matter. Beautiful wasn't the right adjective. Frank wasn't sure there was a right adjective. Her skin glowed in the mid afternoon sun as if she was carved from one solid piece of French marble. Her eyes were fractured pieces of azure crystal and, when she smiled, the trust behind those eyes almost made him pause. He knew he didn't deserve trust like that. That kind of unearned trust, that kind of responsibility for another person, after Maria, after his children, it was almost too much. He almost stopped himself entirely and left her then. Almost.

"Please," Karen whispered again.

Frank's attention snapped back to the present. The idea that she'd let this body before him be touched by Red and thought of him the entire time.

Fuck.

Frank shifted on the bed as he leaned forward and caught the other pert nipple between his teeth. He was careful not to wince in pain as he felt a stitch in his thigh give way. His dick was so hard that the sheet between them felt like sandpaper and all he wanted to do was flip her underneath him and fuck her into the mattress until she forgot she'd ever laid with Matt Murdock but, the tiniest rational part of his brain that was left at his disposal knew that, if he did that, he'd rip all the stitches in his leg and bleed all over her damn bed. Frank pulled away panting as he let his calloused hands span Karen's hips and pull her sharply forward.

Karen squeaked in surprise. Her eyes were closed when Frank pulled her forward and her hands went out to catch herself on the thick corded muscle of his shoulders. She suddenly found herself crushed to Frank's chest and felt his, rather sizable, erection pushed flush to her belly. Frank was trailing open mouthed kisses against her collarbone and the breath came whooshing from her lungs as Karen felt his right hand glide along her hip to her inner thigh before he let it rest against her sex.

Frank's mind was reeling as he felt Karen's tiny thrusts against his pelvis; he doubted she even realized she was doing it. Her hips were canting just a fraction of an inch every other second and the friction against his cock was maddening. Frank let his right hand glide along the smooth skin of her hip and along her thigh before pushing it between his pelvis and hers to easily cup her sex. His chest tightened and he paused with his lips between her breasts as he found her dripping with need.

Karen whimpered. Frank was lightly thumbing her clit and it just wasn't quite enough but, goddamn she was close. So fucking close. She didn't come this fast on her own; what the fuck was happening?

Frank groaned as he made an educated decision and thrust two fingers roughly into her.

Karen's walls immediately began to shudder around the invasion.

Karen cried out and bit down on Frank's shoulder. Her eyes slammed shut and she felt her legs start to give out on her. She grabbed at Frank's biceps for support and leaned, shamelessly, into his palm; rutting against his hand as she rode out the waves of pleasure rolling through her pelvis. When Karen opened her eyes Frank's fingers were still inside her and, as she met his gaze, he gave a little smirk and curled them forward. Karen squeaked when a tiny aftershock of her orgasm surprised her. Then, as she watched, Frank slowly withdrew his fingers and licked them clean.

"So beautiful," Frank's voice came out in a strangled sigh before he roughly grabbing at the back of Karen's neck; pulling her to him for a kiss that was far more brutal than he intended. But, at that moment, it had to be. There was a monster inside Frank Castle, he'd know that for months now, and it that moment, the monster inside him needed Karen to know she was claimed. She was its' mate. Frank Castle had tried to keep them apart but, he now knew that the monster he'd fought for so long, _The Punisher,_ had to have her. He had to have her. Without her the monster would overtake his life. With her the monster could rest and he could, if just for a few hours, be a man again; not _The Punisher_ just….Frank.

Frank pulled away, barely conscious of his leg, and, spanning his hands around her waist, easily lifted her onto the bed with him.

Karen was confused as Frank began to lift her. She wanted nothing more than to right herself on his shaft and ride him for the rest of the afternoon but, he was moving her across his chest as he laid down. Karen found herself slightly off balance and, as she swung her leg over to straddle his chest, she leaned forward to grab at her headboard so she wouldn't fall. When Karen looked down she found that Frank was smirking up at her.

"What," Karen started; a nervous giggle escaping her lips. "I nearly lost my balance!"

"Sit on my face," Frank breathed.

Karen's lips opened and shut a few times while she tried to comprehend what Frank had just said. She had never. Not with Matt. Not with anybody. Hesitantly she inched her knees toward the headboard until Frank snaked both hands behind her hips and pulled her above his shoulders.

Her smell was intoxicating. Sweet and musky; like sandalwood and roses. Frank was shaking, despite himself, as she lowered herself slowly above him. When she was close enough he grabbed the tops of both her hips firmly, opened his mouth, pulled her flush to his face, and laved the split of her with a thick wide tongue.

Karen cried out. She hadn't intended to. She was trying to be so careful. Having never done anything like this before she didn't want to smother Frank, or break his damn nose, but, she wasn't prepared when he pulled her too his mouth with one firm stroke. His tongue was inside her now. Fucking inside her. Playing against her clit, her folds, fucking her with his mouth. Karen's eyes slammed shut as she fought to just feel. That and not lose her balance. The room was spinning as she clutched at her headboard. "Fuck," Karen gasped as her breathing faltered and froze in her chest.

Frank Castle was in heaven. To know a woman like this. To have a woman's pleasure, Karen's pleasure, bend to his will was a heady drug and, as he watched her torso twist and breasts bob, as she cried out above him he almost came like a fucking teenager. Her thighs were squeezing his head and when he heard her pray out a curse against the humid air Frank smiled against her folds. He nosed her clit forward with the slightest of movements and wrapped his lips firmly around the swollen nub.

Karen's mind lost all coherent thought to a pleasure that bordered on pain and she screamed as her orgasm blinded her to everything except Frank's mouth. Her body was a boneless mass against Frank's form and she sagged forward onto the headboard only to have a vague awareness of large firm hands removing her grasp from the wood.

When Karen finally regained an awareness of her limbs Frank was gently working her form down his chest, rolling her onto her right side, and curling around her bring her back flush to his chest. When he got her where he wanted Karen felt him slide his injured leg over the top of her thigh and rest it there. She smiled. Somehow they fit like this. It felt; normal. His erection was pressed firmly into the cleft of her ass and Karen gasped as she felt him begin to thrust lightly, rubbing himself gently against her ass.

When her voice found its volume Karen finally spoke. "Your leg."

Frank grunted and slid his left hand to her hip before thrusting more firmly against her ass while pulling back with his hand. The force of it sent delicious aftershocks of pleasure through Karen's pelvis. "Condom." He whispered into the shell of her ear.

Goose flesh broke out across Karen's back. "I'm on the pill," Karen spoke softly. "Have been for years."

Frank's thrusts became more insistent and Karen's voice faltered as she felt herself shamelessly pushing back against his cock.

"I was," Karen gasped as the head of Frank's cock slipped between her legs and Frank rubbed the length of his shaft along the split of her mound without entering. When he pulled back again the shaft went back to its spot against the cleft of her ass. "I was always careful with Matt," Karen started again. She was cut off again when Frank's left hand gruffly came forward to pluck at her clit at the mention of Matt's name. His breathing was becoming more erratic in her ear but, he didn't speak. He didn't have to speak; his hands were screaming 'mine' at the mention of Matt. Karen tried for a third time; "Before, Matt it had been two years. I've only been with two other people. I'm clean." The word 'clean' came out in an elongated moan. Frank was rubbing firmly against her clit now and Karen could barely concentrate on his words. He was speaking and she could hardly hear him.

Frank's breath caught in his throat. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? The soft pressure of her thrusting back on his naked cock was making it incredibly difficult to think clearly; he had to be sure. "No condom?" He posed the statement like a question. He hadn't been with anyone since Maria and he'd always been faithful to her. Before Maria; that seemed like forever ago and he'd been tested before his marriage. He knew he was clean but, the thought that she would trust him like that. With nothing between them. His hand stilled on her clit as he waited for some sort of confirmation. Her tiny hand flew to his between her legs and she pushed firmly against his digits as she rocked between pushing herself against his fingertips and then back against his cock.

"Please," the cry came out as a thin whine and Karen was startled when she realized it was her own voice.

"Please what?" Frank grated out as he ground his cock in a firm circle against her ass.

"Please fuck me Fra…" The end to Karen's sentence was abruptly severed with a shrill scream as Frank forced the blunt head of his cock into her waiting slick heat. She had no idea how he'd done that so fast and another scream took her by surprise as she felt a stretch somewhere in the vicinity of her soul when Frank pushed the rest of the way inside her. Her scream turned to ragged gasps when he bit down hard on the back of her neck. It would bruise and she didn't give a fuck.

Frank was spiraling out of control; on the precipice of oblivion. He'd been so goddamn close to coming for so goddamn long and, now, inside her, he was right there. He had to ground himself. He had to get control. So, he did the one thing he could think of; he bit down on the exposed patch of skin directly in front of his lips. And, as he held on with teeth and hands, cock buried to hilt in ecstasy, Frank found his center once more and pulled himself back. Slowly, not daring to move inside her yet, Frank took his mouth from her neck and spoke softly, "You okay?"

Karen nodded and shuddered against his chest.

Frank's breathing was still uneven. The monster inside him had to know. "Was it like this with him?"

Karen shook her head and breathed, "No."

Frank pulled back short and thrust forward hard while simultaneously letting the dead weight of his injured leg to press her thighs together. He was rewarded with a slight fluttering of her walls against his shaft. "Did he fuck you like this?"

A small noise escaped Karen's lips and she shook her head 'No' again.

"When you imagined me fucking you," Frank kept his mouth close to her ear as he spoke, "when you were with him; could he get you off like this?"

Frank's hips snapped forward again and Karen almost cried out from frustration. On the heels of her last orgasm she was so overstimulated she couldn't concentrate. She could tell her next orgasm was right there; just beyond reach. His slow firm movements inside her and his filthy words almost had her there but, his left hand had gone still. Karen snuck her hand forward found the little bundle of nerves, she just had to come and then she could concentrate on Frank's words; then she would play, talk as dirty as he wanted. Another whine of frustration escaped her as she felt her wrist circled and her hand pulled back by his. Karen wanted to cry. As he held her hand back, Frank's hips began to snap forward with more force and Karen felt him hit the top of her. She pulled against his hand but he held her wrist firmly.

"Answer me," he ground out.

"No," she cried. "No, he didn't."

Frank's thrusts picked up. His hips snapped in a staccato rhythm punctuated by Karen's strangled cries every time his strokes hit home. "You're going to come again," Frank breathed. "You're going to come on my cock. Do you hear me?"

Karen was biting her lip now and even though she heard his question when she opened her mouth she couldn't form words. She nodded her head adamantly and gasped when she felt Frank turn loose her hand.

"Touch yourself," Frank commanded.

Karen's hand flew back to her core and began to furiously work her clit. She felt Frank's left hand travel to her hip as his right hand slipped under her side and banded across her chest. His right palm came to easily rest on her left breast; thumb playing across the nipple there. Using the position of his hands on her body Frank pulled Karen back to meet every forward thrust he made.

Frank's concentration was waning. He'd kept it together for so long at this point. Sweat beaded across forehead and his breath kept catching in his throat. Breathing at all was becoming difficult and Frank felt as if his chest was on fire as his balls began to draw up, "Fuck Karen, come on doll," he grunted. He could feel her fluttering around him, hear her high keening cries, but, she wasn't there yet. Exasperated Frank moved his right hand from her breast to slap Karen's hand away from her clit. With a force more ruthless than he intended he sought out the hidden nub; plucking at it until Karen's whole body twisted and, as Frank watched, her mouth opened in a silent body wrenching scream.

Frank's breathing froze. White pinpricks of light danced across his vision as his body bowed around hers.

Karen fought to keep hold of consciousness. Every muscle in her body bore down and the detail of her one bedroom apartment blurred. Mind numbing euphoria flooded her senses and, when she was finally able to notice something other than her own blissed out body, she felt Frank moving behind her, there was roar that dissipated to heavy breathing and, then, he was still.

Karen hadn't intended to fall asleep. She cracked her eyes to a twilight filled bedroom and immediately registered that it was cooler than it usually was in her apartment. It had to be evening on Wednesday, or maybe Thursday morning. Whatever time it was Karen was hungry.

Sitting up in bed Karen took stock of the dull ache between her legs. Looking down she noted soft blue bruises growing across her left hip and the slightest of smiles slipped across her lips as she ran her fingers against the mark Frank's grip had left.

Karen only had a momentary reflex of panic at the presence of blood on her sheets. As she shook sleep from her mind she registered the smell of coffee coming from her kitchen pot and water running in the shower. Frank; he was still here.

Karen slipped off the mattress and padded, naked, to the bathroom. When she cracked the door steam billowed out. She noted a fresh suture kit cracked open on the edge of the sink and a small pile of bloody gauze on the floor. The blurred outline of Frank's body was visible behind her opaque shower curtain. Karen licked her lips absently and, then, thought better of her mind's desires. Right now she was the delicious kind of sore; another round with Frank so soon and she might be the bedridden kind of sore. Karen pulled the bathroom door closed with a soft snap as it clicked home and turned toward the kitchen.

When Frank Castle finally emerged from the bathroom he was pleasantly surprised to see Karen's sweet, heart shaped, ass nude and rocking side to side in front of her range as she scrambled some eggs. It made him smile to realize that she'd secured an apron around her waist and the strings dangled playfully over the creamy skin of her posterior. His traitorous cock twitched in his ruined, blood soaked, jeans that he'd found drying on the back of toilet.

Then he saw it; the bite mark on the back of her neck had blossomed into a cascading mix of light blues and dark purples.

Frank's breath did a sharp intake. His cock at half mast he was taken back at his own reaction. The monster in him needed to bend her over the kitchen counter and take her again. He'd marked her; he'd done that. Something about it pleased The Punisher very much. But, the man in Frank, the _Frank_ left in Frank was horrified. He'd never marked Maria like that. What kind of animal was he turning into?

Frank closed the distance between them and slid his arms around Karen's waist before gently kissing the back of her neck. He was genuinely surprised when he felt her sigh and lean back into her chest.

"I'm sorry," Frank whispered.

Karen twisted in his grasp and gave him her best 'what the fuck?' look.

Frank gave a humorless chuckle. He brought his right hand gently to the back of her neck, indicating the flesh there, "I hurt you," he muttered.

Karen's mouth found his before he had time to pull away, ashamed of himself, and, once it was there, he didn't have it in him to break the kiss first.

It was a kiss that stood alone. It was gentle. It was slow. It was everything she was and he wasn't and, when she finally pulled away, Frank was certain that he had just stolen something far more beautiful than a man like him could ever deserve to have.

"You never did a damn thing to me that I didn't want," Karen whispered, mere millimeters from his mouth.

Frank smiled and stole a second peck from her lips.

Karen loosed a clean clear peal of laughter that surprised them both. "Now sit down and eat your eggs, Castle." Karen commanded as she slipped from his grasp and took two plates from the cupboard. "You need to heal."

For the first time since the death of his wife Frank Castle, gladly, did as he was told.

Three hours, two servings of scrambled eggs, four homemade biscuits, and one brand new pair of size 30X36 jeans from the corner Goodwill later Karen was unsure how to handle the goodbye looming before her. She'd shoved an extra suture kit, a couple rolls of gauze, and a roll of medical tape in a gallon size ziploc baggie and found herself pressing the plastic bag into Frank's waiting hands.

Frank smiled at her actions. "I have all this shit at home you know." Frank faltered for a minute, "Well I did have it before the Cubans shot the shit out of my safe house."

"You don't have to leave," Karen said.

Frank smiled again. "Yeah," he said, "I do. Been here too long already. Car's in the alley had to be called in by now."

Karen found herself nodding. She understood.

Frank reached up and stroked her cheek with the hand that wasn't holding his care package of medical supplies. "I'll be around. I'll be back."

Karen leaned into his touch. "You never really left me did you?"

Frank shook his head. "Couldn't bring myself to do it." Karen nodded and Frank dropped his hand away from her face. "Almost forgot," Frank added, reaching into his pocket and producing a black clam shell phone. "Been carrying this around for about a month now." Frank pressed the phone into Karen's hand. "Should charge easy with that smartphone cable in your kitchen. My number's the only one in there." Frank paused and licked his lips as he searched for the right words. "If you should need me."

A smile quirked Karen's lips and she leaned forward to give Frank a quick peck.

"What's so funny?" Frank asked, smiling now, despite himself.

"You gave me a bat signal," Karen replied.

"Nah," Frank said playfully. "This is better than the bat signal."

Karen quirked an eyebrow and Frank gave her one last quick kiss as he twisted the doorknob behind him. "This calls me," Frank finished. "I'm way better than Batman. Batman is a fucking pussy."

 **There goes the end of this story. Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Until next time...**

 **Cheers and Happy Writing,**

 **Rev**


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